Lost In You
by futurejelly
Summary: His face was inches from mine as his blazing gaze flicked from my mouth to my eyes. "I've seen this look in your eyes before, Christine." His voice was a soft growl that went straight through me. "And who are you performing for now?" CHRISTINE knows that the only way to bring her voice back is to find the man who first awakened it.
1. Chapter 1

… _Ah, dream too bright to last!_

 _Ah, starry Hope! that didst arise_

 _But to be overcast!_

 _A voice from out the Future cries,_

" _On! on!" –but o'er the Past_

 _(Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies_

 _Mute, motionless, aghast!..._

-"To One in Paradise" by Edgar Allen Poe

""""

"Christine, perhaps you could sing for me?" Raoul's light voice floated to me from across the parlor. Madame Giry and Meg had retired early, as was Meg's habit before a show. So, it was only Raoul and I, a vision of most nights to come, I imagined. I glanced up from the book I'd been immersed in and met Raoul's hopeful eyes. I tried to smile, but I'm afraid it might have been more of a grimace as I said, "Not tonight, my love. Someday."

His face fell slightly before he could mask it. I dropped my eyes to my book again, but the words were swirling; I couldn't focus on them. I despised myself for hurting Raoul, he deserved so much more. I should give him all the music my heart can hold, but I couldn't. My music had fled, and we both knew why. I loved Raoul with every piece of my heart, but my soul held no music for him. Only two people had ever stirred that part of me that held my music. My father… and my angel. I closed the book with a snap, shutting my mind away from those thoughts. From the corner of my eye I saw Raoul jump at the noise.

"Oh! I'm so sorry, darling," I said.

"Have I upset you?" Raoul rose from his chair, concerned.

"No, no, of course not. I closed the book harder than I realized, that's all." I laughed, but even to my own ears it didn't sound like me. "Anyway, I think I'll go to bed. Wouldn't do to fall asleep during Meg's performance tomorrow." I rose and held my hands to towards my fiancé. He took them in both of his and gave me a smile, but there was a touch of sadness in his eyes. Rising up on my toes, I gave him a soft kiss. When I withdrew, his eyes were clear and content once more. "Goodnight, Raoul," I said.

"Goodnight, Christine," he murmured as his hand rose to stroke my cheek, once. "I'm so happy you're here."

I laughed softly. "You don't have to tell me that every day… but so am I."

My smile lasted until I was alone in my quarters, but then it faded, as it always did. Truly, I normally tried to postpone the hour when I would have to retire for the night because I hate it so. The loneliness was crippling. At the opera house, I'd always been surrounded by people. I'd even shared quarters with the other dancers. The last time I'd been really alone was after my father died. Now, just like then, I was in a place wholly unfamiliar to me. A place that felt too big, like I could be lost and forgotten. Only now, there was no angel of music to comfort me.

Stop it, Christine. There never was any angel, just a mad man with a beautiful voice. But, God, it _was_ beautiful.

With a deep sigh, I undressed and changed into my night clothes. The fire drew me close and I let the heat soak into my legs from the hearth. This room really was much too big. It's meant for le Vicomtesse, so it really isn't proper for me to stay before Raoul and I are married, but he insisted. Truthfully, it was causing a bit of a scandal for me to live here before our nuptials, and it was really just one more thing to fuel my guilt. The city was already awash with rumors about the ballerina turned prima donna whose rise to fame was the work of the infamous madman and murderer, the Opera Ghost. None of them knew what had really happened down in the depths of the opera house, Raoul assured me. This is why it was none of their business how long I stayed here unmarried. After the fire, I was left just as homeless as Meg and her mother. Considering such friends as the two of them have been to both Raoul and me, Raoul offered them quarters as well, though notably less lavish than mine, and they had to share. Still, they were grateful and so was I. Madame Giry flatly refused Raoul's "improper" offer at first, but a few days of searching for a job in a Paris that knew her to be somewhat of an accomplice to the Opera Ghost had taught her the meaning of humility. It was so hard to watch her realize how much her life had changed from the powerful position she held in the ballet, but we've all had to adjust. Raoul has already received fewer invitations, fewer handshakes in the street. The whispers from society are a small price to pay for safety, he assured me; God knows they'd whisper anyway. It's been two weeks, and Meg and Madame Giry are beginning to find their ways, thanks to Raoul's influence. Meg has already joined a chorus at another opera house, less prestigious than the Populaire, but she's dancing. If she does well, they promised to find a position for her mother as well. None of us doubt that Meg will do well, she was made for dancing. And I, well I don't know what I was made for. A few weeks ago, I would have said that I was made to sing, but now I can't produce a note. Every song that passes my lips since the fire catches in my throat like a lie and it makes me feel as though I were a stranger in my own body. Worse, I didn't know how to fix it… or perhaps I did, I just didn't want to face it.

My Raoul knew this, or he sensed it. He knew I didn't sing anymore. Every night he asked me to sing, at least those first few days. I tried, but couldn't sing more than a few bars. The wounds were too fresh and he could see that. He hardly asked at all anymore. It seemed so unfair to ask him to be patient after all he'd done for me, but I had no other choice. My music was gone.

I gave Meg a hard hug backstage. "You'll do wonderfully, dear!"

"Well, I'll do my best," Meg giggled, obviously nervous.

"Giry, you must get your makeup on!" a stagehand scolded from behind me.

"Oh, it's time!" I said. "I won't say good luck because you don't need it." I swooped down to give her a kiss on the cheek and watched her run back toward the other girls, her dainty feet flying. I smiled up at Raoul, who took my arm and led me toward our box.

As I watched Meg twirl around the stage, obviously one of the best dancers out there, I couldn't help but sigh. Raoul seemed to read my thoughts. "Do you miss it, darling?"

I gave him a sad smile. "I do, but it belongs to another part of my life."

"It doesn't have to. I could patron another opera house, I can—"

"Raoul, please. Thank you, but no. Let's just enjoy Meg's night, yes?"

His warm hand covered mine as his head turned back toward the stage. "Of course."

""""

"Oh, it was so good to dance! I don't think I can ever repay you, Vicomte…" Meg was all smiles as she was escorted into the parlor by the valet.

"Nonsense, Meg. You are practically family to Christine, and so to me," Raoul said with a smile. My heart swelled with love for him and my mouth lifted in affection.

"You were wonderful, Meg!" I spoke up from my seat by the fire.

Madame Giry cleared her throat from beside me. "Yes, but I noticed that you let your foot fall twice during the second act—" Meg floated over to her mother and bent down to kiss her softly on the cheek.

"Oh, Mother, I'm going to enjoy this! I will practice tomorrow, I swear."

Madame Giry tried to remain stern, but it was impossible not to be caught up in Meg's easy happiness. That was her way.

"Well, this calls for some wine!" Raoul summoned a servant who scurried into the kitchen, emerging with four wine glasses and a decanter filled with a deep red wine. When it came time to take the glass Raoul offered me, I refused.

"No, no, you enjoy."

"Come, Christine, we're celebrating!" Raoul laughed, placing the glass down on the small table beside my chair.

I'd seen how drink transforms people and, having never tried it, was nervous about what I might say or do. Still, I knew that when Raoul set his mind to something, he did not easily surrender. I rolled my eyes playfully at him and wrapped my hand around the glass, raising it in an ironic toast to him.

"There now!" He raised his own glass towards Meg, who was perched on the arm of Madame Giry's chair. They both lifted their glasses towards him and I followed suit. "To Meg. May her feet never falter or fall during the second act!" We all laughed and tipped our glasses back. The wine was bitter; I didn't like it at all. I glanced up at Raoul, who was taking a deep drink of his wine, and grimaced a little. How could he like this so much?

Having had the same amount of experience with wine as I, which is to say none at all, it wasn't long before Meg's face was flame-red and her giggles were even more plentiful than normal. My own glass was still full beside me, though I'd been sipping it for Raoul's sake. Madame Giry's glass, however, was just as full as mine. I understood why when I noticed her concerned eyes were trained on her tipsy daughter. I'd never seen a mother more protective than Madame Giry. I supposed because she was Meg's only protection against this world, a world which could be so cruel. It made me miss my father to see her.

Another couple rounds of drinks and Raoul and Meg were laughing, talking about some chorus girl who'd forgotten a turn during the opera. I was laughing, too, but at the two of them. I met Madame Giry's eyes and she gave me a smile tinged with exasperation. My heart warmed with affection for all of them. It was late and I was tired, but it felt wonderful to be surrounded by so much happiness. Also, I didn't want to be alone any sooner than I had to be. Unfortunately, even these celebratory nights must come to an end, and as Madame Giry noticed Raoul signaling for more wine, she rose and said, "Meg, dear, I think that's enough for tonight. We must ice your feet before they swell permanently."

"But, Maman, we're celebrating!"

"You've celebrated enough. Christine and le Vicomte must be tired."

Raoul said, "No, madame! You must allow one more round…"

"No, thank you, monsieur. Come, Meg." With a firm, but gentle hand on her upper arm, Madame Giry led Meg up to their room.

"Christine," Raoul turned to me with brows pulled together in worry, "you're not leaving me, too, are you?"

I smiled and shook my head. "No, my love."

He leaned down to grasp my face in both hands, a bit too tight, but I didn't complain. His mouth tasted like that wine and I drew back, but his hands were insistent. I resigned myself to his normally pleasant kiss, but his mouth was sloppy with drink and when his hand slipped over my breast, I pushed it away. He drew back enough to whisper, "It's alright, dear." His hand returned, but with more purpose. I tore my mouth from his.

"Maybe it is time for me to retire," I said, irritated.

He leaned both hands on the armrests of my chair, trapping me. I stared up at him with wide eyes. "Christine, you're to be my wife. I've given you everything, it's perfectly proper to have a celebration of our own." His mouth lowered to my neck.

"No, Raoul." I scrambled out from under him and hurriedly placed myself so the sofa was between us. "What's gotten into you? I will give you the benefit of the doubt and blame it on the drink, but I do _not_ like you like this."

All of a sudden the man I loved transformed and his eyes turned hateful. "Oh," he growled, "I can't touch you in our own home but you let that monster put his hands all over you on stage?"

I recoiled as if he'd struck me, and he might as well have. My eyes filled with tears and he became nothing but a watercolor blur as I turned and ran upstairs. I heard his yelled, "Christine, wait!" from behind me, but I didn't stop until my bedroom door was closed and locked, separating me from my fiancée. I slid down the door until I was crumpled in a pile of fine clothes on the old but plush carpet, my back on the hard, heavy wood of the door. Through my crying I could hear Raoul's footsteps staggering up the stairs. "Christine, forgive me." I remained silent. I listened to his labored breathing through the door until he sighed, and his jarring footfalls retreated into his room. I let my head fall back against the door and sat that way for I don't know how long. I probably would have stayed there all night had I not noticed a shadow directly across from me, darkening the curtains in front of the balcony doors. My heart stopped and then started again, racing as I squinted into the darkness. Was it a trick of the moonlight? I sat still as a statue, eyes glued to the figure, waiting for it to betray itself either as shadow or man. My mind whirled, but couldn't help but land on another figure from my past, one whose shape I knew well. Could it be? My stomach knotted with fear… but not just fear.

Suddenly, finally, the shadow moved, proving itself to be more than moonlight. Quicker than a blink, the figure disappeared from the window's view, slinking left out of my sight. Before my mind could stop me, I shot up from my place on the floor and ran to the balcony, throwing open the doors and yelling, "Wait!" But it was too late. In the cold winter air, I looked in every direction, but nothing was there. I'd missed my chance.


	2. Chapter 2

_I am not yours, not lost in you,_

 _Not lost, although I long to be_

 _Lost as a candle lit at noon,_

 _Lost as a snowflake in the sea…_

"I Am Not Yours" by Sara Teasdale

When I went down breakfast, Meg and her mother were already there, dining on eggs and toast. Raoul was conspicuously absent, but I was too exhausted to pay much attention to what that meant. "Tea, miss?" The servant asked as soon as I entered the room. He was fairly new to me, but I'd seen him before and I felt a stab of guilt for not learning his name.

"Coffee, please," I told him as I sat at the end of the table, opposite Raoul's.

"Coffee? Christine, I thought you hated the stuff?" Meg asked. I glanced at her to find her normally bright eyes rather dull and I noticed that her place was quite a bit less empty than her mother's. On any other morning, I might have found her hangover amusing, but not today.

"I didn't get much sleep."

"Ugh, me neither. I swear it, I'm never drinking wine again," Meg whined.

Madame Giry chuckled. "Ah, everyone says that the first time they over-indulge. It just teaches you to be more careful next time."

Meg said something in return, but I didn't hear it. I'd pulled Marie, one of the servants I did know, to my side and asked in a whisper, "Where is le Vicomte?"

"Mademoiselle, I believe he's gone to confession," she whispered back.

I nodded and she left to fetch me a plate of breakfast, though I wasn't sure I could eat it. Confession? It made sense and I was a bit relieved that he could see his wrongdoings from last night. Mostly, I was relieved that I had more time before I had to see him. My vision of the man I loved had been shaken last night. I know that drink can transform a man, bring out the worst in him, but I thought I knew every bit of Raoul. Ask me yesterday, and I would have said he would never hurt me. I'd have said he was incapable.

"…don't you agree, Christine?" I was shaken from my dark thoughts by Meg's voice.

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

"My, you _must_ be tired. I said, don't you think that the singers at the Populaire were much better than the ones last night? Why, you on your worst day could out-sing any—"

"Meg." Madame Giry cut her off with a stern voice and I was grateful. I certainly didn't want to talk about the Populaire, didn't even want to think about it, in fact, but the damage was done. My thoughts wandered back to where they had been held hostage all night. Was it the phantom outside on my balcony last night? I hadn't heard a word of him since the night I gave him my ring, since the night I chose Raoul. Hundreds of people, both police and citizen alike, hunted him for days, but he was never found. He was chased from his home and, no matter what he'd done, my heart panged with pity for him. He was right when he'd told me that no matter which path I chose I could not win. He took the choice out of my hands in the end… but it didn't feel like a victory. If it was him last night, why wouldn't he speak to me? After all, we'd been so close for so long.

But no, we weren't close, I didn't know the man under the mask at all. He was no angel; he was a murderer. But then, why let me leave with Raoul? I pushed the eggs around on my plate, my mind miles from here, in the caverns below the Populaire. Suddenly, I surprised myself with the taste of blood. I'd been chewing on my lower lip without realizing it. I took a sip of coffee to wash the taste away- I despised blood. It was clear that my mind was too full to stay there with Meg and Madame Giry, so I excused myself from the table, claiming a headache.

"Lie down, my dear," said Madame Giry. "You don't look well."

I gave her a grateful nod, but rather thought sleep would be just as elusive as it had been the night before. At the doorway I turned to say, "Oh, and if Raoul should ask, please tell him I may be indisposed the whole day." Meg and her mother both raised their eyebrows at me, but nodded. As I turned, I noticed them shoot each other a suspicious glance and, horrified, I wondered if they'd overheard any of last night.

It must have been at least a couple hours of me lying on my bed, staring at the balcony windows when I heard a soft knock on my door. "Christine?" Came Raoul's soft voice. "Are you awake?" I lay perfectly sill, hoping he'd think I was asleep, coward that I am. "Christine, please, I must speak with you." His voice broke on the last word and it went straight to my heart. I owed my love, the man who saved me, at least a conversation. I shuffled to the door and opened it a crack, allowing a strip of Raoul's perfect face to peek through.

"May I come in?" he asked, his face open and pleading.

I took a deep breath. "It's your home, Raoul."

His head hung forward. "No, Christine, it's ours. May I come in?"

I stepped back and let him enter, leaving the door open behind me. His firm steps echoed as he strode to the fireplace, looking into the flames for a moment before turning back to me. "Christine, I am so sorry for my brutish behavior last night," he said in a rush.

My eyes trained on his, I moved to stand beside him. "You scared me last night, Raoul."

"I know I must have, but Christine, I would never hurt you. You must know that."

"I did…" Slowly, he reached for my hand, which I was hesitant to let him take.

"Forgive me, Christine. I never wish to harm you, or dishonor you."

I stared into his eyes for a long while, but he never wavered. Finally, I let out the breath I'd been holding. "Why did you… that is, do you expect me to…?"

"No!" Raoul brought his hand up to stroke my cheek. "No, Christine. I only want to marry you. I expect nothing, I was mad with drink and loving you."

"Love?" I asked, suspicion plain in my voice.

"I know it may not seem that way, but yes." He bit his lower lip between his teeth for a moment. "Christine, sometimes it feels as though you… regret being here." I opened my mouth to object, but he placed his hand gently against my lips. "It may just be my hurt pride or sensitivity, but… you don't sing anymore. It seems as though you're just going through the motions. Please, you don't have to say anything. You've been through much these past months, and I'm willing to wait for you. As long as it takes for you to… adjust."

His hand finally left my mouth and I said, "That doesn't excuse—"

"I know. What I did was out of line, but Christine, do you understand how I feel?"

"My life was shattered, Raoul. I'm in a strange house, with strangers waiting on me, my entire life is different. A month ago I was sleeping on an ancient mattress in a dorm with twelve other girls and now I have servants asking me if my sheets are warm enough. I'm so grateful to you, but I can only give so much right now."

Both of his hands grasped mine as he said, "I understand. I'll spend the rest of my life earning your trust back."

I slid my eyes to his with a smirk. "Then you had better not touch the wine anymore."

He laughed, grasping onto my humor. I rose up to kiss him and this time, the familiar butterflies were back. When we broke apart, I stepped back to say, "I do think I will stay in my room today, though. I really am exhausted."

"Of course, my dear. I'll have the servants bring your lunch up here." With another kiss to my hand, he left me.

""""

 _The stage was empty save for me, a piano, and the man seated in front of it. The jarring notes of_ Don Juan _were ringing out of it; the man was slamming his hands on the keys, his back to me. Candles were suspended above the piano, lending the only light in the theater. Like a moth to the flame, I was drawn to him. His black hair was neat, his white shirt crisp and clean across broad shoulders. He was obviously immersed in the music, swaying and rocking with the sounds, but seemed to sense the moment I stepped into the circle of light from the candles. Those shoulders relaxed, the music softened, and the sensual notes of Point of No Return echoed from the piano. I stopped just behind him as he continued to play._

 _"Won't you sing for me?" I asked. "This is your verse."_

 _"I would do anything for you, my angel," his rich voice began to pour out of him, singing the song that was written to entangle me. My head fell back and my eyes closed as I let his voice wash over me. As my part came closer I moved to the side, around him. Still singing, my Angel turned his gaze to me. His hair was brown and wild, the right side of his face a marred parody of his left. Still, I hardly noticed it. His voice was all that mattered. Distracted, I joined in too soon. Captivated by the longing, the love in his eyes, I sang with him, "What warm unspoken secrets will we learn… Beyond the point of no return." My angel let the note hang in the air, slowly rising from his seat. As he rose, his hands traveled up and over my skirts, barely touching. I followed their progress with my eyes, enraptured, until they rested on either side of my waist. Then, glancing up, I met his eyes, beautiful though mismatched, and tilted my head as he leaned in. Our lips met and I was made of fire, throwing my arms around his shoulders and pulling him close. Our passion grew and he spun me until my back was at the piano and the keys clanged at the impact, a shocking contrast to the harmony that had filled the stage moments before. His mouth moved down my neck and I felt him growl, "Have you forgotten your angel, Christine?" His teeth bit softly at my skin and my gasp echoed around the empty stage._

""""

"Madame Giry, I must speak with you," I whispered.

Madame Giry started at the sound and turned to find me leaning over the back of her chair. With a soft snap she closed her book and said, "Of course, child." Her hand waved at the chair opposite hers, but I shook my head.

"No… Will you walk with me? Just around the garden?"

Her shrewd eyes narrowed at me, just as they had when I was a girl shirking dance practice or stealing an extra biscuit from the kitchens. I swallowed, but didn't look away. Finally, she shrugged on her coat and let me lead her out the door.

"Christine, it's freezing out here. What is so important?"

I ran my gloved hand over a pine branch, absentmindedly admiring the needles. Even in the cold they never lost their color.

"Madame," I said, still looking at the needles, "I don't know who else to talk to. I fear that Meg won't understand and Raoul… Raoul can't know."

"What have you done?" Her voice was low and serious. I spun around with wide eyes.

"Nothing! Nothing, Madame."

Her shoulders slumped slightly with relief before straightening again. Her dancer's discipline never wavered for long. "Thank God."

I licked my dry lips, but the cold only attacked them more. "I haven't done anything. But, Madame, I'm so confused. And I thought… you seemed to know so much about him… I thought if you told me, I'd stop wondering at least. Endlessly wondering. And perhaps I could move on. No matter how I try, the wondering never stops—" Madame Giry stopped me with a hand to my lips.

"Hush, girl. You must put everything that happened out of your mind. Everything."

As soon as her hand left my mouth, I said, "Don't you think I've tried? The memories, they hit me like rain. Only one at first, and then a downpour of them. I can't escape. When I think I've succeeded, they break into my dreams. And, Madame, my dreams…" My voice shook and I'm sure Madame Giry could see the shame in my eyes.

Her fingers snapped under my nose, surprising me into silence. "Christine, no. You went through a terrible ordeal, and I'm sorry for my part in it. But you are not tied to him. It would not help you to know more. Marry le Vicomte, sing, move on."

"I'm afraid, Madame… I'm afraid I cannot sing without him."

"Silly girl, of course you can." She grabbed my arms tight. "You must. The Opera Ghost is gone, and his power with him."

I was so close to telling her about the shadow on my balcony, but I held my tongue. She didn't understand and I was alone again. So, I nodded and whispered, "You're right. Of course."

Once inside again, I lost myself in thought as Madame Giry turned back to her book. Move on, she'd said. So easy to say, but she didn't understand. I didn't even understand, I just knew that there was a void in my life where music used to be. Without music, there was no connection with my father, with myself. And without my angel, there was no music.

Father, what do I do? You told me, _you_ told me to wait for an angel. Surely you know what that would mean for me? Is he a murderer, heartless and cruel as everyone says? I feel as if I'm splitting in two. He spoke of love so tenderly, and I believed him. I felt loved, but I also felt great danger. Phantom or Angel? I couldn't decide, and my conversation with Madame Giry had only made me feel worse.

My head fell back against the chair as I thought of my father. I tried to focus on his face, but it was fading, had been for some time. I remembered a particularly cloudy afternoon by the sea, hoping to dredge up every detail. My dress was yellow, the day was unseasonably cool and I wasn't dressed warmly enough. I was shaking, but trying so hard not to let my father see because he would make us go back to the cottage and I was having so much fun. We were standing on the rocky shore having a competition to see who could throw a rock the farthest into the waves. He let me win, but I was too young to see it at the time. I can hear his laughter, his shouts of "You're getting so strong, little love!" But I couldn't see his face. I felt my eyes prick with tears. I was losing him.


	3. Chapter 3

_I have no life but this—_

 _To lead it here—_

 _Nor any Death—but lest_

 _Dispelled from there—_

 _Nor tie to Earths to come—_

 _Nor Action new—_

 _Except through this extent—_

 _The Realm of you—_

-"I have no Life but this" by Emily Dickinson

""""

The next day found me using the carriage Raoul had given me to drive to the cemetery. I was always drawn back here when I felt lost; it comforted me to know my father existed, to have the proof of him before my eyes when I'd started to lose his face in my mind. Here I could talk to him, pray for him and myself. When the cemetery gates loomed above me I told the driver to wait for me there.

"But, Mademoiselle, le Vicomte told me I am to always escort you while in the city." He jumped down from the carriage after me.

"Whatever for?"

"To keep you safe."

I gave him an exasperated sigh. "I have come to this cemetery alone for years, Leroy."

He put his hands in his pockets and shifted uncomfortably. "Yes, Mademoiselle, but that was before there was a madman on the loose."

The breath left my body in a surprised huff. It made sense that Raoul would be cautious with the phantom at large, but really. He let me go; surely if he was going to harm me or kidnap me he would have done it already, or he would have stuck to his word when he he had Raoul at ransom. My mind flashed to the shadow outside my window, but I waved it away. I didn't believe my teacher would harm me and considering it had been days without any appearance, my heart had begun to accept that he was gone, his music and mysteries with him. That thought should have brought me gladness, but he'd been part of my life for so long. I'd lost my father, and even though the phantom was no angel, he'd still brought me much comfort during a time when I'd never felt more alone.

"Leroy, you can see the grave from here." I pointed to the tomb named 'Daae.' "Just there. I would really appreciate some privacy."

I could almost see the decision warring in his mind as Leroy shifted his weight from foot to foot, his eyes on the tomb that held the only family I'd ever known. "Alright, mademoiselle. Just… take mercy on me and don't be too long."

"You have my word."

The ground was soft with snow, muffling my steps among the lonesome gravestones. I never saw other visitors here during the winter and idly wondered whether mourning was meant to stop with the cold. Mine never did. My father's tomb loomed above me and I crossed myself in its shadow. A shiver stole over me as I remembered the last time I was here. I shook my head and let my eyes wander over the tomb. "Hello, father. I'm sorry it's been so long since I've visited. Of course, you'll know why… Papa I feel… I feel so lost sometimes. Whenever I think I'm doing the right thing, it turns out to be wrong. Or doesn't _feel_ right, anyway. I so wish you could talk to me. I need you." I stood there in the cold snow until the weight of loss threatened to crush me and the tears left frozen tracks on my face. In one moment I thought I'd heard music on the air, but it was gone the second I tried to focus on it. My chest ached with longing and as I tried with all my might to remember the exact shade of my father's eyes, another pair of eyes, so filled with the same pain and the same longing that I felt, swam to the forefront of my mind. That night had been the hardest of my life, knowing I caused that pain.

""""

 _Raoul clambered into the phantom's boat, nearly tipping into the water in his desperate haste. Once steady, he turned back to me, his arms stretched out to pull me in with him, but I hesitated, shaking my head._

 _"No, I can't leave it like this." I heard my voice shake and could feel my eyes go wide with determination._

 _Panic set into Raoul's face, draining his handsome features of color. "Christine, come into the boat!" he pleaded._

 _I took a step back. "I won't be long." My back turned on the man I'd chosen and spun again when I heard the splash of the boat behind me as it rocked with Raoul's leap to the shore. He caught my shoulders in his hands._

 _"Christine, it's not safe! We barely escaped from that lunatic, that demon! My love, I'm begging you…"_

 _I pressed a hand to his smooth cheek. "I will return to you, Raoul, I promise I will. But it can't end this way. Wait for me here."_

""""

"Christine! Thank goodness, I was beginning to worry. We waited." Raoul, Meg, and Madame Giry were seated around the table, glasses full but plates untouched. I rushed into the room, handing my coat to Neville with a smile.

"You needn't have waited! I'm sorry, I didn't think I would be so late." I held my hand out to Raoul, who kissed it. "Please, get started, I'll just go up and change and be right back."

Raoul held tight to my hand, keeping me there. His voice lowered as he leaned into me and murmured, "Was everything alright?"

I gave him a reassuring smile and I prayed it touched my eyes. "Leroy kept me quite safe, I promise."

I'd gone to the cemetery to find solace, but found myself feeling worse than before. I couldn't maintain a smile during dinner, nor during tea in the parlor. I sat there observing the conversation, but never taking part. Raoul and Meg watched me with concern, but kept up a conversation between themselves, naturally cheerful souls that they were. Madame Giry, however, watched me with suspicion, tinged with… was it desperation? After our talk in the garden, she seemed to look at me like I was a branch damaged in a storm- hanging on by a thread, ready to fall. It was unbearable, mostly because it mirrored how I already felt.

When I couldn't take it anymore, I excused myself with a quick curtsy and a mumbled excuse about the cold air taking my energy, and hurried to my room before Raoul could even stand. I caught the hurt in his eyes as I passed his chair and felt it in my heart. Would I never stop hurting him? Since that night he'd almost forced himself on me, things had been different between us. Our interactions weren't easy, they were careful. He walked as if the floor were made of thin glass that might shatter if he took a misstep, and I felt more than ever that I was trespassing in his home.

Once I heard Raoul's and Meg's conversation start again, my steps slowed on the stairs. I was glad I'd gone to my father's grave, but my heart was still heavy. It didn't take me long to discover that what I was feeling was disappointment. The last time I'd gone to the cemetery, the phantom had been there, singing to me, luring me with music. I drove my fist against my forehead, urging myself to think rationally. What was wrong with me? That was the question I spent all night pondering. By morning, I didn't have an answer. What I did have was an unshakable belief: I had to see the phantom again.

My life could never move forward without knowing… just knowing. My mind was once again making myth out of the man who loved me, terrified me, and taught me, and it was consuming my every thought. I had to meet him again, even though the idea brought every conflicting emotion roiling to the surface. The only question was how. Where would he go? Was he still in Paris? I haven't heard even a whisper of his whereabouts since that night on my balcony. I knew Raoul still got reports from the police about the status of their investigation, but he always emerged from those meetings frustrated and angry. I'd asked him once to leave the phantom alone, that he wouldn't bother us anymore, but he only kissed me on the forehead and locked himself in his study without a word. I never mentioned it after that. I knew the phantom must be very rich, that he got a large monthly allowance from whoever was managing the Populaire over the years. Has he left the country? Any sensible man on the run would, I thought. Then again, I never really knew what he was going to do, could never predict how he would handle anything. All I know is that when I left with Raoul that night, he was a man broken. Would he even have the strength to travel?

I had to start somewhere, and I knew that it had to be the last place I saw him. Even if he wasn't there, which was more than likely, I could at least face some demons of my own. By the time I went to bed that night, I'd formulated a plan for the next day.

""""

"Christine, you'll love it here. I know it's not as grand as the Populaire, but the girls are much worse dancers, so you and I will get all the best spots in the ballet," Meg chattered across from me in the carriage, Madame Giry beside her. Meg's mother came to all her practices, she claimed it was to get out of the house, but I think it was to make sure Meg put effort into practicing.

I sighed. "Meg, I told you that I would come watch your practice, I don't know that I want to join the ballet again."

"But you must! My dear, you look so sad and wan lately, you need something to do."

"Meg, it would be inappropriate for the future Vicomtess to dance in the ballet."

"I suppose you're right, maman. So, Christine, you think you may sing?"

I shrugged and smiled at her. "Maybe. Honestly, I just want to ease myself back into things. Look around the theater if I can. The manager, what was his name?"

"Michele."

"Right, Michele. He told me when I was with Raoul that I could come and see behind scenes whenever I wished."

Madame Giry scoffed. "Hoping to secure Raoul as a patron, no doubt."

I lowered my eyes. "Still, it was very nice."

""""

"As you can see, Madame le Vicomtesse, we have a very professional operation here!" Michele gestured to the practicing ballet onstage, the director shouting corrections at this or that girl, never Meg. I didn't bother to correct his assumption that Raoul and I were married.

"Yes, Monsieur, I can see." His smug smile grew and I knew he was hoping I would run home to tell my husband to throw money at this place immediately.

"Not as big as the Populaire, true, but more intimate, certainly. You could even say it was more elite, since we sell fewer tickets! Why, our base of attendees is mostly noble…"

I tuned him out as best I could, trying to focus on my plan. It didn't take me long to realize that subtlety was far beyond this man's understanding and I wondered whether all managers were this ridiculous. Mine certainly had been. "Monsieur," I finally interrupted, "I wonder if I may have time to speak to some of your performers? I know I'd like to reacquaint myself with the opera that way, and I know le Vicomte would greatly appreciate it." I gave him a wide smile as if we were in league together, and he winked at me.

"Of course, of course, Madame. Please, don't hesitate to find me in my office, there. The dressing rooms are just behind you." With a bow, he retreated into his office, eager to grant my wish. I knew exactly where the dressing rooms were, I'd insisted on a tour when we walked in the door and Meg had run off to the dancer's quarters. Madame Giry had taken a seat in front of the stage to watch the practice, so I was left alone. I turned on my heel, walked through the hallway that held the singers' dressing rooms, and strode right out of the rear door into the street behind the Opera House. I took a deep breath and without a backward glance, hailed a passing cab. My heart started to pound the closer we came to the charred bones of the Populaire. I only had four hours before Meg's practice ended, but it was foolish to think that no one would notice my absence before then. I had to be quick.

Raoul had told me the story he'd heard from Madame Giry; the story about her rescue of the young, tortured boy who had become the Opera Ghost. It was a horrifying tale, but as the cab pulled up in front of the ruins, only one part of the story was on my mind. The part about the hidden entrance from the side alley, the one made to look like another sewer. I crept down the side alley, avoiding the eye of any passerby, hoping that my black cloak helped camouflage my form into the dark stones and blackened wood surrounding me. The stone foundation of the opera house was still standing and I ran my hand along it, darkening my fingers and grimacing with unease. What if it had collapsed? What if I wouldn't be able to find it in the construction? There were places where the wreckage blocked the foundation despite obvious efforts to clean up the area. However, I was determined. My time was running out and I couldn't afford to lose hope. Finally, I spied a couple iron bars, burned black, sunken into the foundation. It was mercifully free of timber debris, and I bent to lift the latch. To my great surprise, the grate opened easily. Rather than relief, disappointment flooded me. If the phantom were still here, he would surely have locked what must be the only remaining entrance to his lair. Still, I'd come too far to turn back.

I had to crawl on hands and knees to get through the entrance, but it soon opened up into a cavern and I recognized the place he'd taken me. I pulled out the small lantern I'd stashed in my cloak, lit it, and followed the dark tunnel down into the depths of the opera house. My feet were sure as I turned and twisted through the underground. I'd only been down this path twice, but I would never forget it. The biggest challenge appeared in the form of the tiny canal which led to the lake. I'd only ever been here by boat, and there was no boat in sight. I searched every corner of the cavern and finally found a stick shoved into the angle of the wall and floor. My pale hands, smudged with black, ran up and down the stick, examining it. It looked to be the pole that the phantom used to propel the boat. I looked back to the water. I had a stick, but it wasn't much good without a boat. I stood on the edge and lowered the stick into the water, testing the depth. It was probably waist height, too deep to wade through in this cold. My breath left me in a frustrated huff. Just when I'd decided to turn back, I noticed the ledge running along the top of the water. I tested the width with my foot, and it was barely large enough to hold my shoe. But, if I braced my weight against the pole, one end holding me up and the other in the water, I could shuffle along the edge. The lantern swung as I made my slow progress along the canal, and my arms were burning with the effort, but I was moving. I didn't let myself think about how foolish this was or how long it was taking, I was too committed. Luckily, it wasn't too long before the shadows from my lantern lengthened and the canal opened up into the lake. I stepped off the ledge and onto the shore, lifting my lantern high into the air.

The place was in ruin. The mob had carried off whatever small souvenirs they could hold, leaving empty spaces conspicuously among the debris of papers and broken things. My lantern cast shadows on the walls and the occasional glitter off shattered glass. I strode to the mirrors and brought my hand up to a point of impact. This mirror… a memory shoved into my mind and I could see my frightened face looking back at me, the phantom's face over my shoulder. He should be right where my fingers rested and I knew that it had been he who broke this mirror. He'd shattered it right where his ruined face reflected.

A low voice hit my ears. "Vicomtesse, it is truly an honor."


	4. Chapter 4

… _At this hour when hearts, deep in their hiding places,_

 _Have begun to hope once more, when they start their vigil_

 _For hands still enfolded in sleeves;_

 _When wine being poured makes the sound_

 _of inconsolable children_

 _who, though you try with all your heart,_

 _cannot be soothed._

 _When whatever you want to do cannot be done,_

 _When nothing is of any use;_

 _\- At this hour when night comes down,_

 _When night comes, dragging its long face,_

 _Dressed in mourning,_

 _Be with me,_

 _My tormenter, my love, be near me._

-"Be Near Me" by Faiz Ahmed Faiz

""""

The sarcastic voice was loud and harsh in the darkness and with a shriek, I whirled toward it. The lantern slipped from my grasp and shattered on the ground with a pop, joining the ranks of debris and plunging me into total darkness. Panic seized me and my feet took me backwards, pressing my back against the mirror which cracked even further with the added weight. My mind whirled through endless possibilities as I stood waiting in the dark, each one more terrifying and ridiculous than the last. I cursed myself for a fool, but prayed for his voice to ring out in the black, to feel it caress me once again. It was still silken against me, though it was tinged with harsh bitterness. His voice could always make me forget myself… and its sway had only grown stronger with absence. I shivered when it shot out again through the damp gloom.

"Why have you come, Christine? To claim the bounty yourself? Being married to a Vicomte, I would've thought your money troubles over." I'd never heard someone sound so exhausted.

"I'm not married," I whispered.

"Don't lie," he spat.

"I wouldn't." Though I never heard him approach, suddenly he was in front of me, his cool breath assaulting the skin on my face. I cowered into the mirror and whimpered when his hand slammed against it, the broken glass showering into my hair and onto my cloak.

"You wouldn't," he hissed into my ear. _He won't hurt me… he won't hurt me_. "Why, then, Christine, do you live at his grand house surrounded by other grand houses?"

My head whipped toward his face. He was so close that our noses touched, but he drew back in surprise. "That _was_ you outside my window," I said in triumph.

I couldn't even hear him breathe. It was so dark it seemed as if he'd vanished. Finally, he spoke again and his voice was terribly sad. "You weren't meant to see."

"Why did you come?" I whispered.

"Punishment, I suppose." The bitterness was back in his voice.

"You wanted to punish me," I nodded.

I heard a humorless chuckle. "So young." I drew in a breath to tell him I wasn't so very young when he said, "I've answered your question. Now you answer mine. What in God's name are you doing here?"

How to explain? I never expected him to be here, though I'd prayed for it. "I… I suppose I just… didn't like the way I left things for you." I hated that I couldn't see his face in the darkness. I felt so vulnerable and it seemed as though he could see my every thought as though they were written on my face. "Can't you light a candle?"

"No."

"Please? I can't see anything."

"Christine, I know you're young, but I never imagined you were this cruel. Don't you think you've destroyed me enough? Now you come here where I should think I am finally safe to taunt me. They stole my masks, Christine."

"Taunt? No, I would never! That's not why I came. I know what face is in the darkness and it doesn't frighten me anymore."

"Then you don't need the light." His voice was so definite that I dared not argue.

"You don't trust me," I said.

"Why on earth should I? Go home to your Vicomte, Christine. Before the monster steals you again." His footsteps echoed around the chamber, growing further away.

"I can't sing!" I cried out. The footsteps halted. "I haven't since _Don Juan._ I try, but something stops my voice before I can sing a note." There was absolute silence in the pitch black, but I could tell he was there, listening. "I'm losing my music… and whatever else you were, you were my teacher."

"What do you want?" His voice from across the chamber was laced with misery.

I'd heard in times like these, people don't know what they're saying, that instinct and action take over and they simply act on impulse. I knew exactly what I was saying. "Help me, please. Help me find my music again. I'm so lost." The words had been in my heart since I saw his shadow on my balcony.

His footsteps grew nearer and I knew he meant for me to hear him. He could move as silently as a ghost when he wished. He didn't stop until I felt the brush of fabric against my skirts. Suddenly, the harsh strike of a match sounded in the cavern, and a torch was lit beside me. His face was above me, and it was every bit as terrible as I remembered. The suddenness of its appearance and the cold grimace on its distorted features caught me unprepared and I flinched, my breath shaking with fear.

"Ask me again," he growled.

I took a deep breath and summoned my courage. I knew this face and he was no monster. When I looked up at him, I was steady. "Will you help me?"

His expression didn't change, but a cold finger, encased in soft leather, rose to touch my cheek, running a slow line down to the edge of my jaw. "You've improved your acting, mademoiselle. No one knows your face better than I, but I can't tell what you want. Is it another ambush? Are you meant to lure me out of my dungeon, into another trap?" He sounded so resigned.

"No," I said. "No."

His cool touch still on my face, we stared at each other. Me with hope, he with calculation. Finally, his arm fell with a thud to his side and, taking a step back, he shrugged. "Be here tomorrow at midday."

Relieved, but still a bit anxious to get away from this unpredictable man whom I had to get to know all over again, I didn't say anything. I glanced down at my broken lantern and then back up as the torch he was holding was thrust at me. I took it with a nod and left, though I couldn't help hearing his soft murmur, "Now I pay for my sins." My steps slowed, then quickened. I was exhausted and overwhelmed with what had just happened, and I needed time to think.

It never crossed my mind as I hailed a cab to take me back to Meg's opera house that I should never return here, to him. He was every bit as unstable as he had been the last time we'd met… but I knew that he was hurting. And I knew it was because of me. I couldn't abandon him as he was, but I was not as selfless as I tried to convince myself. My heart was lighter, my mind freer after hearing his voice. Filled with anger though that voice was, it was salve on a burn.

As the driver handed me into the cab, I thought about his final words today. Pay for his sins? He must have been convinced I would return with the gendarmes. It stung that he would see me as some angel of death, come to deliver cold justice. True, I'd been part of a plot to capture him before, but I'd been so frightened then. Frightened, confused, betrayed by the man, the angel, I'd thought would protect me and guide me. I hadn't even known he was mortal until I'd felt my love for Raoul blossoming. The phantom's sins were many, but the more I remembered my time with him, the more convinced I was that he never meant me harm.

The carriage jolted to a stop in front of the Bouffes-Parisiens earlier than I would have thought possible. My thoughts had put me into a trance and I had to fumble through my bag for the money I owed the driver. Once inside, I leaned against the door for a moment, a headache growing behind my eyes. Of course, it wasn't long before I was accosted.

"Madame!" Michele's voice assaulted me almost immediately and he rushed towards me, Meg and Madame Giry in tow. "We were so worried, we thought… well, it doesn't matter."

"Child, where have you been?" Madame Giry's voice was as flustered as I've ever heard it.

I took a deep breath and smiled sheepishly, calling on my acting experience. "I'd gotten hungry, so I just took myself to that café I loved by the Populaire. Meg, I was just telling you how much I missed their croissants, wasn't I? I'm sorry to worry you all, I hope I haven't disrupted practice."

"Christine," said Meg, "practice ended twenty minutes ago!"

My heart dropped. "It… did it? Oh my, I must have gotten lost in my own stomach!" I giggled.

Madame Giry was glaring daggers at me, though Meg just rolled her eyes. Michele clapped his hands once and said, "Well, you're safe, and that's what matters! I do hope, Madame," he turned to Madame Giry, "that this little incident won't… eh… find it's way to the Vicomte?"

Without taking her eyes from me, Madame Giry replied curtly, "Of course not."

"Wonderful! Do come back any time, Madames." He bowed to Madame Giry and me. "And I'll be sure to stock sandwiches for le Vicomtesse," Michele said in the best humor.

I laughed and said, "Thank you, monsieur."

Raoul had been locked in business meetings all day and his study was still closed when we arrived back at the house, serious male voices leaking into the hall. I glanced at the dark wood of the door and sighed as I removed my scarf and handed it to Neville. Madame Giry hadn't said a word to me on the carriage ride back, but I could feel her stare the whole way, as I felt it now in the foyer.

"Lord, I think my toes are about to fall off. I think I'm going to go soak them for a solid decade," Meg announced, heading for the kitchen. The servants hurried after her worriedly, shouting "Mademoiselle!" Like me, it was taking Meg some time to get used to being waited on and the servants didn't know quite how to reconcile it. I smiled after her, but my face fell when I turned to find Madame Giry clenching her jaw behind me.

"Christine, come," she said, leading me up the stairs.

"Will you be needing anything, Mademoiselle?" Neville asked me.

"No, Neville, thank you. We'll be back shortly and… well, we'll be back shortly." I'd almost asked for him to lay out food, but remembered just in time that I was meant to have eaten on my little adventure this afternoon. I shook my head at myself and followed Meg's mother up the stairs and into my room.

She closed the door behind me and when she turned I was surprised by the panic in her eyes. "Where were you?"

"I told you…"

"Christine, your voice is crafted by heaven, but your acting never amazed. I've known you since you were running into the backs of knees, don't lie to me." Her face was so filled with disappointment and fear that I felt my eyes begin to water. "Where were you?" My mouth opened, but I couldn't make any sound come from it. It didn't matter, she saw the truth in my eyes, just as she always had. Her eyes closed and a shaky breath left her small frame in a rush and I realized for the first time just how tiny she actually was.

"I'm sorry." I mumbled, looking at her feet.

"I told you to forget. To move on."

"I know, but Madame… I've been trying since we came here and I just can't. I try so hard, I stare at myself for hours in the mirror, making myself hoarse trying to sing. I can't remain like that, it's not living."

Her face twisted in pity and disgust. "After everything the Vicomte has done for you."

The tears finally fell from my eyes. "I never want to hurt Raoul."

"Christine, I don't know what to do. You can never go back there, you know that."

God, I hated myself. My eyes closed as my head fell back. "I have to."

Suddenly, a hard slap rung out in the room and I blinked down at Madame Giry in shock, the pain blossoming across my cheek. "Selfish child," she hissed. "Your father spoiled you because he was alone and you were his perfect little girl. I spoiled you because you were pretty and heartbreakingly sad. _He_ spoiled you because you were beautiful and had a voice that made angels weep. Le Vicomte spoils you because he is so blinded by his love he cannot see that yours is gone."

"It isn't—"

"Of course it is, I've been watching it slip away for weeks. You are not the only person in the world, Christine. You've made a promise to a man, a man who sacrifices much to have you. The Opera Ghost is not real. The Vicomte is real."

Sobs were coming unbidden from my chest and I felt more lost and betrayed than ever. "You're right. I know you're right. I am selfish, I'm selfish and cruel and I only think of my own needs. But I will marry Raoul, I only want my music back. I'm dying without it."

"He will never forgive you."

Anger sparked within me and I grasped onto it. "You don't know him! And you don't know me as well as you think. I do love Raoul, I will marry him, but if I do not do something to fix this emptiness inside me, he will not marry me. Don't you see that? He knows I'm not myself, he knows something is wrong and it'll eat away at him, as it's already done to me. I have to do something, and this is the only way I can see."

"Are you… asking my permission to have an affair?"

My eyes went wide and I shook my head violently. "No! No, I just… I just want to sing."

"That man is no angel Christine, he is mortal. And mortal men desire more than music."

"I can't marry him, he knows that. Besides, I think there's more hatred than love in him. He doesn't want me."

Madame Giry shook her head and sighed, looking at me in pity. "You're so young," she said, echoing the phantom's words from earlier. "There's really no sense in you, is there? A dreamer all your life, I'm ashamed of myself for encouraging it all those years. If you're determined, I will help you. But this won't end with happiness, Christine. My only solace is supposing that no matter what, it never would have."

I sniffed and wiped my eyes. "You're wrong, Madame. I'm doing this with my eyes open this time, knowing who my teacher is."

"I don't want to know any more than this. I will help you, but I wash my hands of anything further. God willing, you'll see sense soon."


	5. Chapter 5

_,If music be the food of love, play on,_

 _Give me excess of it; that surfeiting,_

 _The appetite may sicken, and so die._

 _-Twelfth Night, Act 1, scene 1, 1-3_ by William Shakespeare

""""

My footsteps echoed around the dark tunnels, splashing here and there through an unseen puddle. The temperature dropped the deeper I climbed, making me glad I'd thought to bring an extra cloak. I tried to keep my thoughts blank as I walked, because I'd been questioning my reserve ever since that talk with Madame Giry. When I came upon the canal, I crouched for the stick I'd left there the day before and raised my lantern. A smile curved my lips as I saw the little boat pushed up to the canal's edge, waiting for me. My breaths became deep and steady. This was my teacher, and he wouldn't harm me. The only thing that gave me pause was the thought of Madame Giry's face as she promised to tell Raoul that she and I were touring some more opera houses, but it was a small price to pay.

I pushed the little boat down the canal and extinguished the light in the lantern when I saw a warm glow up ahead, accompanied by the soft sounds of music, some hauntingly sad melody I didn't know. I suspected my teacher was guiding me to him, but he needn't have bothered—I'd never forget this path. When I stepped into the room, I tried to keep my footsteps quiet, but I could never move with the silent grace that he possessed. He was seated in front of the piano, his back to me. As soon as I took a breath within the chamber, he turned his head to look at me, the unscarred side of his face the only one I could see, and it was carefully blank. The music never stopped playing. I froze when he saw me, but he simply glanced at me and looked back at the piano. With my eyes on him and ignoring the wreckage around me, I let my feet carry me towards him. The music from the piano surrounded me and I watched, fascinated, as his body shifted and swayed to the music, as if he and the piano were two parts of a whole. I wanted to touch him, just rest my hand on his shoulder, if only to be a part of that union. His playing never faltered, not even when I stood next to him, enraptured by his long fingers on the ivory keys. My father's hands looked like that when he played the violin—ten sure fingers all moving seemingly of their own accord, but always with the same goal. My lips curved into a small smile at the memory. My teacher's head turning again caught my attention. From here, I could see that he'd made another mask, this one of soft brown leather roughly sewn together and held to his face with a thong of the same material. My heart fell a little at the sight.

His eyes were held behind me as he said, "You came alone?"

I swallowed against my nervousness. "Of course."

That cold gaze swept from the entrance to my face, then his eyes narrowed and my anxiousness grew. The music never stopped and his gaze never wavered, but I could tell he was thrown. "Of course? I hardly thought it a matter of course that you would keep your word." My head dropped in shame and I was about to apologize when the music stopped and his hand waved away whatever words I was about to say. "No matter. If you've come for the lesson I promised, that is what you'll receive." His voice was so distant, so cold, but it was better than the silence I'd been living in. He rose from the piano and stood in front of me, a breath further than arm's length. His hand hovered over the keys. "Deep breath in, exhale on a hum. Keep your shoulders back."

Suddenly, surreally, we were teacher and student again. He took me through the warm up we'd used a hundred times before, only he'd been an unseen angel then. Now, with my head tilted up and staring into his eyes, hating how the mask hid his expressions to me, there was no ignoring that I was alone with a dangerous man who was not my fiancée. Yet, as I admitted this to myself, I knew that this was where I was supposed to be. When he finally played the first note to take me through the scales, I felt fear and anticipation twist my belly. What if I couldn't sing? He played the note again, waiting for me mimic it with a raised eyebrow. I closed my eyes and inhaled, letting the note pour out of my chest. It was pure and strong, just as he'd taught me, and joy filled me, sure and familiar. It came time to continue the scale, but he never played the next note. My voice faded and I opened my eyes to find his filled with pain. The mask wasn't enough to hide the anguish on his ruined face.

"Angel?" I whispered, afraid of what I'd done. So quickly that I jumped, he turned his back and rubbed a hand over the uncovered side of his face. I stood still, uncertain, it seemed forever until, finally, he took a deep breath and faced me again. His face was calm, blank as if nothing had happened. He merely played the first note of the scale again. "We can… you don't have to…" I stammered.

"Sing, Christine." So I did. His eyes closed in rapture as I sang through the scales, but mine stayed trained on him, watching for any more pain. Despite what he probably thought of me, I didn't want to cause any more pain. Once my exercises were done and the last note was fading, I waited patiently for him to tell me which song I would be singing, but there was silence.

"Angel?" I murmured.

Suddenly, he stood and moved away from me. All I could see was his broad back. "Christine, do not call me that. I hardly think the title fits me anymore, not that it ever did." His words were bitter and cold when he turned back to me.

"I don't know what else to call you," I said, raising my eyes to his.

He blinked twice as he thought, his whole body still and tense. "Well," he finally said, "Since you are my student again, you will call me master."

"But you must have a name?" My boldness surprised me.

The corner of his mouth lifted in a mocking smile. "Men have names, not monsters."

"You aren't—"

"Christine, enough. You're here for a lesson, aren't you?"

Without waiting for my reply, his fingers began to play the aria for _Hannibal._ With a sigh, I joined my voice to the notes. His shoulders tensed the moment I started to sing, but mine relaxed. As I sang, I could see his body make that union with the melody again, and his eyes closed in rapture. This is where we were meant to be, surrounded by our music. If only we could stay there. No stage, no expectations, no longings or duties. Just his piano and my voice. I could forget everything he'd done, everything I'd done, and just be. Song after song flew by with brief breaks for him to correct my posture or breathing. He was firm, impatient as he'd always been, and it was so comforting. It was as if I were back in the opera house, believing my angel when he told me I'd be a star.

I was disappointed when his hands stilled on the keys and he said, "You're almost to where you were before. Your voice remembers, even if your mind does not."

"My mind?"

"You lose focus. Your natural talent buys you some allowance, but not enough. Sometimes I can see your mind wandering. You forget your breath and your voice loses power. I've told you this before."

"I… you're right. I'll try harder." Distractions were plenty lately and I bit my tongue on reminding him of recent events. We'd both made mistakes, I would just have to remember why I was there: the music.

"See that you do. We're done for today."


	6. Chapter 6

… _for everything that's lovely is_

 _But a brief, dreamy, kind delight…_

 _He that made this knows all the cost,_

 _for he gave all his heart and lost._

 _-W.B. Yeats_

It was becoming too easy. With Madame Giry as my accomplice, we'd been able to make sure that I could spend at least an hour with my teacher every day; and with every day that I spent in the caverns below the ruined Populaire, my heart lifted. The music flowed freely and as soon as I left the sun behind me and stepped into the little boat, I began warming up my voice with soft hums through the scale. It should have been perfect.

""""

We'd been in the sitting room for a few minutes. Meg was dozing lightly in a chair, exhausted from practice, Madame Giry was reading a section of the newspaper that was the brother of the one in Raoul's hands, and I was smiling softly into my tea. My teacher had told me again today that my voice was almost perfect. It was only my concentration that was lacking, but that had always been my problem. I only needed practice. "Raoul?"

"Yes, love?" he said, his eyes still on his newspaper.

"Is the piano in tune?"

"Of course, I always keep it tuned. You know that." Slowly, he lowered the newspaper, as did Madame Giry.

I smiled at him and turned to Madame Giry, "Madame, I wonder if you wouldn't mind playing? I'd like to sing."

Her face might have been carved from stone, but she rose and went to the piano. Meg wiped the tiredness from her eyes and sat up in her chair, her face mirroring the hope and confusion on Raoul's. I almost laughed at the sight. I stood next to the piano and asked Madame Giry to play the first aria from _Faust_. I'll never forget the look of relief and joy on Raoul's face, and my eyes never left his as the last notes rang through the house and he and Meg rose to their feet, applauding. It should have been perfect, but as soon as I saw the joy in Raoul's eyes, my mind flashed to my teacher, alone and cold.

""""

Days later, music was flooding the cavern as I let myself in. He was seated at the piano, just the same as always, but for the first time, I didn't recognize the music. Something of his own making? It was mesmerizing. His body was moving sensuously along with the dark notes, at times slow and fluid, at times urgent and unnerving. My footsteps were drowned in the music that was making my stomach flutter and my breath shake. My hand reached out of its own accord and my mind whispered that he was so immersed in the music that he couldn't hear me approach. The familiarity of this situation never occurred to me, I was simply entranced. There was no curiosity this time, only admiration. The music washed over me, touching me in a way nothing else ever had or ever could. His music.

I only wanted to be a part of it, of what made those beautiful notes. My fingers brushed his shoulder, but I was brought violently back to reality when the music stopped and he flinched away from me.

"You should have announced yourself!" he snapped.

Filled with shame, I didn't feel the sting of his words. "Angel… I'm sorry." My eyes were trained on the floor and I prayed that he understood. I wasn't apologizing for entering unannounced. He didn't trust me, didn't believe that I wouldn't hurt him. He had every reason to think that I would expose and reject him, I'd done it before. He was quiet for a long time, his fingers resting softly on the piano keys. Finally, he sighed.

"I asked you not to call me that anymore," he murmured.

"Master, I'm so, so sorr—"

"Christine." His voice was so final that my apology caught in my throat. His fingers began playing the scale, but my voice was silent. Many times, it felt as if there had been something just below the music, waiting to be brought to the surface, choking the bond that used to be between us, master and pupil. It was there more strongly than usual now, and I couldn't sing past it. He began the scales again, but again, I didn't sing with them. His jaw clenched and angry eyes met mine. "Have you gone deaf?" I flinched and, ashamedly, my eyes filled with tears. His eyes widened with concern for a moment, but immediately closed, only to reopen filled with anger again. "I asked you a question, Christine."

Without a word, I spun and stomped toward the boat. Frustration welled inside me and I used it to push away the hurt. I heard the piano bench scrape across the stone as he stood, but I didn't stop. "Christine!" I put a hand on the boat and prepared to climb in, but a cold hand closed on my arm. "I did not dismiss you."

I straightened and yanked my arm out of his grasp, tilting my head up to meet his stare. "I dismissed myself. I can't sing like this!"

His eyes, one partially hidden behind the mask, rolled to the ceiling. "Still such a child. Then go, I don't care. You have your voice back, your Vicomte, what else could you possibly need? But know this: if you leave now, don't ever come back. I've given enough." His back turned without another look at me.

My mouth dropped open and I shouted at his back, "Given? What have you ever given me that you didn't demand the world for in return?"

When he spun back toward me, his voice was as angry as I'd ever heard it. "Everything! My entire life, not that it ever mattered much. Everything I had, it was yours to take. And God, you did take it. Still, I would have given you anything you'd asked for, stolen every bit of the world for you."

"You would have imprisoned me _away_ from the world!"

"I'd have made you a star! You wouldn't have been merely a part of that world, you'd have ruled it! And not as a ruler's wife, but a prima donna. Instead, you throw yourself, your talent, my work, away on _him._ " He spat the last word and I was frozen. "Don't you apologize to me when you don't even know what you're apologizing for. Get up to the piano and sing, or leave me alone, but don't presume to think that I do you a favor. I know my sins. That you're blind to your own is no concern of mine, except that it wastes my time."

"If you tell me what I can do—"

"You can sing! Isn't that why you're here? Some dinner party you'd like to entertain for?"

"Of course not!"

" _Of course not!"_ He mocked, cruelly. "Come now, Christine, why are you here? Honestly, there are easier ways to torture me and I wish you would just shoot me and be done with it. How much atonement must I make?" The last part was said to the sky, with his head tilted back and his arms raised. I could just glimpse the marred skin under his mask. With these words, my anger melted away.

"You're wrong," I whispered. With a tired sigh, he dropped his arms and looked down at me. "You're wrong," I said again, stronger. "I do know my sins. I'm not as blind as you think, and I couldn't give you want you wanted from me. I don't want to cause any more pain, but I need the music, just for me. As I said before, everything else aside, you are my teacher." I moved around him and went to the piano, righted the bench, and looked at him, standing frozen next to the boat. "I want to sing."

He stood silent a long time, staring down at the boat. Finally, he turned his head to say, "Then get your shoulders back and stand straight." I watched him walk back to me, his steps sure and calm. When I sang again, that something below the music was heavier than ever. I left the cavern an hour later feeling like an executioner.

""""

 _His body moved with such grace that it put me into a trance once again. He knew at all times where to place his fingers, which way to turn his head so that he caught the melody just right. He was perfection. Should I tell him? Would it spoil this? I couldn't risk ever losing this sight. God, he was a masterpiece. Hair wild, mask discarded, music flowing, he was mine. My hand looked so small on his shoulder- would we ever get to the point where he wouldn't flinch when I first touched him? His head turned, brown eyes catching the light from the candles as he smiled at me. The music stopped and I was in his arms…_

I woke, my body flushed, and brought my knees to my chest. What was happening to me?


	7. Chapter 7

_To burn with desire and keep_

 _quiet about it is the greatest_

 _punishment we can bring on ourselves._

 _-Frederico Garcia Lorca_

Meg was without a doubt, the best dancer in the ballet. As a result, she quickly rose through the ranks and it wasn't long before she was given more prominent roles in the operas. No singing roles, but enough stage time to earn her a lot of favor with Michele. When she told me she had landed her first speaking role, we laughed and hugged like we were little girls again.

"Oh, congratulations, Meg! You deserve it."

"Thank you, Christine. I just wish you were going to be onstage with me!"

"Well, maybe I will be soon," I said, a genuine smile on my face.

We were sitting on my huge bed, surrounded by green canopy. Meg said, "You have seemed much happier lately, dear. It's wonderful to hear you sing again! Le Vicomte has seemed happier, too. The two of you aren't…" She waggled her eyebrows at me.

I threw a pillow at her and laughed. "Of course not!"

She ducked with a giggle. "Well, you are practically married, aren't you? Haven't you thought about it?"

Meg and I had had many conversations just like this one back at the opera house, whispering in the darkness of the dorm. Which chorus girl was sleeping with which set designer, and so on. Now, though, things were very different. My mind flashed back to my dreams, but I blocked it out immediately. "Truthfully," I said, "with all that's happened…" I trailed off to let Meg think that I was still too traumatized to talk about it. I never told her about the night Raoul had had too much to drink. Meg's face filled with sympathy and I felt a pang of guilt; when did I start hiding so much from her? My mind answered, _When you met your angel of music._ Meg stayed with me that night, and I was glad. Just like when we were girls and I would have nightmares about my father's dying breaths, we held each other close and I felt so safe. She kept my dreams away, but I couldn't convince myself that they were nightmares. They scared me for a very different reason.

Only days later, it was the day of Meg's premiere. I sighed into my pillow and wondered if Meg had been able to sleep at all… I know I haven't. Meg had been rehearsing so constantly, I'd had no time to visit my teacher. I'd done what I could to practice on my own, but something in me was wilting again the longer I neglected my lessons. I supposed it was because I'd never gone this long between lessons while I was living at the Opera House. Before I sang my first aria in _Hannibal_ , anyway; everything changed that day. Meg needed me there with her, to build her up as I've always done. I was happy to do it, but I was also anxious to get back to my master. It had been three days since my last lesson; would he be alright? After our heated conversation, we hadn't talked of anything but music, but everything else was always there, waiting to be dragged into the light. With no one but his thoughts and music to keep him human, would he grow to hate me again? Had he ever stopped? I dressed silently, not waiting for the maid to come in and assist me. When Angeline did enter, her eyes went wide and she gently scolded me for not summoning her to fix my hair and lace my dress.

When I went down for breakfast, Meg was nowhere in sight, nor was Madame Giry. Raoul was seated at the table, but stood when he saw me approaching and held his arms out to me. I went into them with a smile and a kiss, glad for us to be alone for once. When I'd taken my seat next to him, I said, "Where is Meg and Madame Giry?"

Raoul shook his head at the newspaper he was reading over his coffee. "They've gone to the opera house to prepare. Honestly, you girls take this too seriously. My father always told me that the best way to handle a big event was to prepare all you could two days before, then not give it a thought until it happened. I think performances are just the same."

"Oh, Raoul," I said, rolling my eyes at him. He smirked at me and I let all the affection I had for him show on my face. Before he could lean over to kiss me, the servants came in with breakfast.

When we'd finished eating Raoul stood and held his hand out to me. "I have something to show you," he said.

He led me upstairs and into my room, where Angeline came in, holding a large box with a red bow. "What is this?" I said, nervous.

His hand brushed along my cheek. "For tonight," he said and gently pushed me toward the bed, where Angeline had placed the box with a smile. She discreetly ducked out of the room.

"Tonight?" I rand my hand along the satin bow, marveling at the feel. "I wish you wouldn't buy me so many things, Raoul."

"Christine, open it before I die of anticipation," he said, laughing.

I rolled my eyes at him again, but pulled on the bow and lifted the box's lid. It was filled with silk of the deepest amethyst. I reached in and lifted a heavy dress, the most beautiful dress I'd ever seen in my life. It looked straight from a queen's closet, of the newest cuts and most fashionable silks. The skirt was gathered into cascades of cream lace trim, purple peeking through here and there. It looked like a flower turned upside down and dipped in light. I gasped and said, "Raoul, I can't accept this!"

"Whyever not?" he said, stepping closer.

"It's too much! We're not married."

"We will be soon, and I was hoping… this could be a sort of pre-wedding gift. To start things off, so to speak." His eyes were so hopeful, it broke my heart.

"Raoul, I know it's awful of me to keep asking you to wait. I just…"

He waved a hand in the air. "No, Christine, it's alright. I just hope that you know that marriage will be no different than how things are now, except," his hands took the beautiful gown from me and laid it down on the bed, "instead of sharing only your days with me, you'll share your nights, too." His fingers trailed along my neck, softly tracing my skin.

"You know I love you Raoul, but I just need a little more time." I caught his fingers with mine and brought them to my lips. He smiled, but I could see the disappointment there.

"We can talk more later. Now, I'm sorry, but I have meetings all day today. I'll arrange a carriage to take you to the opera house, I'm sure you'll want to help Meg rehearse, yet again. Tonight, I hope to see you wearing my gift." He gave me a lingering kiss, and I closed my eyes and let my head fall back. Spending the rest of my life in his embrace wouldn't be a bad way to live, I thought.

"Thank you," I whispered. "I love it."

"I love you," he whispered back before he left the room, bound for his study.

When the carriage dropped me back at Raoul's home after Meg's rehearsals ended, I almost ran up the stairs, frightened I'd dreamed the beautiful gown. But no, there it was hanging on my wardrobe, waiting for me. Angeline rushed into the room after me, breathing hard. I smiled at her and said, "Well, Angeline. I suppose it's time to get ready."

I twirled in front of the mirror, marveling at the way the silk caught the light from the candles. My hair was twisted into an elegant design on top of my head, cream lace braided into the chocolate curls. "Oh, mademoiselle, you are beautiful," Angeline said. I did look beautiful, more so than I think I ever had before. I was vain enough to be elated, though the dress was not without its cost. The cut made my waist so narrow that Angeline had had to lace me into a new corset, and the spines were digging into my ribs, preventing me from taking a deep breath. Still, I looked as fashionable as any princess with my slim figure and exposed arms.

I gave her a teary hug. "I just hope le Vicomte agrees. I think I'll go and ask him, It's almost time to leave, after all." With a smile, I spun and headed towards Raoul's study. I could hear the familiar drone of male voices coming from it, but as I came closer, I noticed that the door had been left open a crack. Now, Raoul's business was his business, and when I heard that his voice was angry and the others were arguing, I should have turned around and gone back up to my room, but I didn't. I softened my steps, and crept even closer.

Raoul's voice was clear. "... been two months, and nothing! You promised me that thing would be behind bars within a week. Now, what are you doing to find him?"

A deep, gravelly voice answered, "Monsieur, we are doing everything we can. Patrols set up around the city, every train and road out of town has been checked and guarded."

"Obviously we have to look harder! He's hiding somewhere, probably waiting for the right opportunity to come after her again."

"Monsieur-"

"No! I'm done with your excuses. Where have you searched?"

"You were with us when we searched the catacombs, we've interrogated every opera house worker in the city, searched from the church towers to the sewers. Honestly, sir, he's a ghost. There's no trace."

I heard Raoul's pacing stop. "He's no ghost," he said finally, his voice tired. "He's a lunatic who must be made to pay for his crimes. You say you've searched everywhere? Well, search it all again, starting with the tunnels below the Populaire. He won't make a fool of us all again. It ends."

The other man gave a heavy sigh, but said, "First thing in the morning, Vicomte. I am a man of my word, and we will find him. And kill him."

My stomach dropped and my lungs felt as though they were filled with lead. The corset seemed to slice my body in half at the waist and I saw black spots in front of my eyes. My mind was racing, but the only thought that rose to the surface was this: I had to save him. They would find my teacher in the catacombs, and they would kill him. No trial, no jail. Raoul was thanking the man who promised to kill my angel of music, and their footsteps were getting closer to the door. I spun and ran as quietly as I could back up the stairs and into my room. I shut the door, putting my back against it and my hand over my pounding heart. What could I do? I had to save him. I had to save him. My eyes filled with tears and I thought of how Raoul had promised me he would let this go. My mind swam back to that night below the opera house. The worst night of my life…

 _Raoul clambered into the boat, nearly tipping into the water in his desperate haste. Once steady, he turned back to me, his arms stretched out to pull me in with him, but I hesitated._

" _No, I can't leave it like this." I heard my voice shake and could feel my eyes go wide with determination._

 _Panic set into Raoul's face, draining his handsome features of color. "Christine, come into the boat," he pleaded._

 _I took a step back. "I won't be long." My back turned on the man I'd chosen and spun again when i heard a splash behind me as the boat rocked with Raoul's leap to the shore. He caught my shoulders in his hands._

" _Christine, it's not safe! We barely escaped from that madman, that demon! My love, I'm begging you…"_

 _I pressed a hand to his smooth cheek. "I will return to you, Raoul, I promise. I will return, but it can't end this way. Wait for me here..."_

 _Once we were back in the little boat and heading for freedom, I put a hand on his chest and said, "Raoul, we have to let him go. Promise me, you'll let him go."_

" _Christine-"_

" _Promise me."_

" _Alright. We'll let him go..."_

"Christine?" A knock on my door made me gasp, and I clapped a hand over my mouth. "My love, it's time to go! We don't want to be late for Meg's premiere."

I quietly moved to the bed, and took a couple deep breaths until I thought my voice would be steady. "Raoul, darling," I called to the door. "I'm afraid I'm not feeling very well. A sudden headache. I can barely open my eyes. Please go on without me, and tell Meg how sorry I am, but I'll have to come to the performance tomorrow."

"Oh, Christine, we can't miss this!"

"I feel terrible, Raoul, but I have to. But I want you to go! You have to make sure to cheer very loud for her." My voice ended on a crack and I choked back a sob. I had to leave, I had to warn my angel. And I had to get away from Raoul. There was no time for this.

"I will stay here with you." The doorknob rattled, and I thanked God that I remembered to lock it. "Christine?"

"No, dear, please. If neither of us are there, Meg will be devastated. Please, I have to go to sleep now."

"...Alright. But unlock the door so Angeline can care for you. I'll have her bring up some tea. I'm praying you feel better, love."

"Thank you, but I don't want tea. I just want to sleep." I said it perhaps too firmly, because Raoul just gave a weak, "Alright," and his footsteps retreated. I waited until I heard his carriage depart from the house before creeping quietly out of the room, down the stairs, and out the door, only stopping to grab my cloak and wait for a couple servants to walk past. The night was cold, but I barely felt it as I threw my cloak over my purple gown, trimmed with cream lace, and walked toward the Populaire.

 **So let me first thank everyone for reading. This chapter is unedited, so if you find mistakes, I apologize. I just thought I would get it out quickly, but it may be taken down and a more carefully edited version put in its place later. Anyway, I thought it best to get it posted!**


	8. Chapter 8

_Oh plunge me deep in love-put out_

 _My senses, leave me deaf and blind,_

 _Swept by the tempest of your love,_

 _A taper in a rushing wind._

 _-Sara Teasdale_

As soon as I was out of sight of the big house, I hailed a cab to take me deep into the city, to the blackened remains of the Populaire. I knew I had until morning, but panic was all I knew. I had to get to him, he would die otherwise. I had the cab drop me off right in front of the ruins of the opera house, not even bothering to carefully cover my steps by stopping at a cafe or church in the area. I didn't have time.

"Here, mademoiselle? Are you sure?"

"Yes, yes. Thank you, monsieur." I threw a few coins at him, probably more than he'd earned, but I didn't stop to count. I stepped off the carriage, waited for him to leave, and ran to the tunnel. The boat was waiting for me, stopped far past the point where the light from the streetlamps trickled in. There was no music when the boat slammed against the shore, but the candles were lit.

"Master?" I called, running to the piano. The candles threw shadows around me, lighting on the debris that he'd never bothered to clean up. Papers, glass, broken chairs, it was all there. Where was the man? "Master?" I called again, my voice rising in pitch.

"I was convinced you'd come to your senses and stayed with your Vicomte, Christine." That satin voice caressed me from the shadows. I whipped my head around, but couldn't find him. Finally, he stepped out from behind a mirror, seemingly from solid stone wall. He was wiping his hands with a rag, his mask firmly in place and dressed in black. "Finally here for your lesson?"

"No." I took a deep breath, suddenly frightened of what his reaction would be. Would he blame me? _He should,_ my mind whispered. "No, I've come… to warn you."

Before I could continue, he barked out a humorless laugh. "Of what? Is La Carlotta coming to sing me a lullaby?"

"What? No, the gendarmes! Master, tonight, I was preparing to go to Meg's premiere, and I came downstairs and heard Raoul talking to someone in his study." His face was darkening. It looked as if he were turning to stone. "They were talking about you, and that they couldn't find a trace of you. They'd decided to start the search over again, starting here!" I waited, panting, for him to react, but he didn't. He just stood there staring at me, the rag in his hands. I blinked at him. "I'm so sorry. I made Raoul promise me that he'd let you go, but…" Still, my teacher didn't react. "Did you hear me? You have to leave! They said, first thing in the morning, they'd be here!"

I stared at him, but he didn't even blink. Finally, he looked down at the rag in his hands, threw it to the side where it blended in with the rest of the debris, and turned his back on me. My head dropped in shame and I waited for him to explode, but I didn't hear screaming, pacing, or more destruction. I just heard the scrape of the piano bench and the soft sound of his playing. I looked up in confusion. "What are you doing?"

"You've missed five days of lessons. We have to see if you've neglected your practicing."

I stomped over to the piano. "Master, we don't have time for this! You have to get far away from this place!"

He looked up at me with black eyes. "Scales, Christine. Now."

"No!"

I saw a fine tremor begin in his shoulders, and his jaw clenched so tight that I heard it pop. "Scales." He played the notes, and, resigned, I sang along. If he needed this to process what I'd said, I would give it to him. Better singing than cowering. I'd seen what he was like when I surprised him and removed his mask, that day he first brought me here. I didn't want to see him like that ever again. "Breathe deeper," he commanded. "Open your voice." I tried, but the corset was cutting into me. I unclasped my cloak and let it fall around me. My teacher's eyes followed it to the ground, and then took in my new gown, all purple silk and cream lace. His stare never left me as I tried to force my breath past the lacings. His fingers never stopped playing, and I was afraid to stop singing. Finally, I was too light-headed. I couldn't breathe enough, so I signaled for him to stop. Doubled over, I panted into my knees. I heard the scrape of the bench and his retreating footsteps.

I put a hand on the piano and straightened, looking around for him, but he was nowhere in sight. Then, I felt a cold hand on my upper arm, holding me in place. I jumped away, but he held firm, standing behind me. The hand went to the back of my gown, brushing cold fingers against my bare back, jerked the silk away from my skin, and before I could react, a knife was inserted between my skin and the lacings, and ripped downward, cutting the dress from me. The corset, a new design, was close to my skin, and it, too, was cut from me. The cold air of the cavern hit my skin and made me shiver. At least, I told myself it was the cold. The breath rushed out of me, and my head cleared. His hand landed on my bare back, right between the blades, and the other went around me to land on my stomach, straightening me.

"Now, _sing!"_ his voice hissed in my ear. My hands went to my chest, the only thing holding the gown up.

"What are you doing?" I whispered. I knew I should be angry, I knew I should be afraid. What he'd just done was mad, callous, and cruel. I turned, and met his eyes, so far above mine. They were hot with anger and passion. His shoulders were squarely set and he was breathing hard, his cool breath pulsing against my skin. What would it feel like to have it even closer? To feel that cool touch on my back again? He was mad, callous, and cruel. And God, I wanted him so badly. I knew it then, I knew that I wanted to belong to him in that moment, even as I knew that I should run. I'd always said that I wanted a man like my father, a man who was handsome, kind, and compassionate. The man in front of me was certainly not handsome, he wasn't kind or compassionate, but something in me saw the rage and fire in him, and answered it. I could see everything he'd never bothered to hide. I didn't know what it meant, but I needed him closer.

He took my face suddenly between both hands, just this side of too firm. My breath hitched in anticipation and my lips parted. His face was inches from mine as his blazing gaze flicked from my mouth to my eyes.

"I've seen this look in your eyes before, Christine." His voice was a soft growl that went straight through me. "And who are you performing for now?"

I tried to shake my head, but his hands held firm. "I wasn't performing then."

My face was thrown away as roughly as it was grabbed. If I hadn't flung my hand onto the piano, I might have fallen onto the cold stone floor instead of landing hard on the bench. The harsh notes from his beautiful instrument clanged off the walls of the cavern as I looked at him in shock to find him standing absolutely still. Only his twitching jaw betrayed his rage.

"Lie to me again and I'll make sure you never sing another note," his voice was steady.

The shock grew. "You would destroy us both!"

His laugh echoed as harshly as the notes of the piano did. "I am already destroyed." His back turned. "Go."

This wasn't my angel. As horrifically beautiful as he was, this was a man. A man I'd hurt greatly, a man from whom I'd taken everything, and a man with nothing to lose was capable of taking revenge, of hurting me like he'd hurt so many others. Hadn't I just seen the darkness that Raoul, Raoul who I'd thought was nothing but light, was capable of? Still, there was one thing I could not ignore, and that was that, angel or no, there was something in me that cared for this man. I may not be responsible for the darkness within him, but I had shunned him when he, alone and wanting, asked me to show him the light. I couldn't go, I wouldn't leave him to the wolves like that again.

I rose steadily from my seat on the bench, grounding myself with a hand against the warm wood of the piano. "No."

Without turning, he repeated, "No?"

My breath escaped in a shaky huff. "No. I won't go."

His hand shot out and swept a stack of music off the piano as he turned back to me. I flinched, but didn't move. " _Go!"_ he shouted at me, his eyes full of rage.

"No!" I shouted back, but I could hear the tears in my voice. Knowing what he did and what he was, I still wouldn't leave him. My shout was a sob.

More music was shoved off the piano, a glass thrown to shatter against the stone wall, the bench kicked away and topped with a wooden clamor. I shut my eyes as the Phantom destroyed, or tried to destroy, his home again. But I didn't leave. Soon, his shouts faded, the banging and booms stopped. I opened my eyes to see him collapsed in the wreckage, his head in his hands, and silent sobs shaking his body. I lifted my skirts and ran to him, wading through the debris. I didn't think, just threw my arms around him and held tight. So light that I had to convince myself it wasn't my imagination, his hands landed on my back.

"I'm so lost, Christine," he whispered. I couldn't say anything, just wrapped my arms around his neck. My fingers curled in his hair as I held him close to my chest. "I've always been so lost."

"I'm here." It wasn't enough, but it's all I had.

"You don't understand." His head shook back and forth very slowly. With every pass, my ruined gown slipped down lower and soon, the rough leather of the mask skimmed against the tops of my breasts. My body trembled at the feeling. "If I don't hate you, I'll love you. I'm lost in you."

"No, master, I understand. And I'm not leaving."


	9. Chapter 9

_Gone, I say, and walk from church,_

 _refusing the stiff procession to the grave,_

 _letting the dead ride alone in the hearse._

 _It is June. I am tired of being brave._

 _-Anne Sexton_

What kind of person am I? I've never really decided. I've never really decided anything.

"Christine, you must go." His voice was soft. "They cannot find you here."

I drew back to look at him again, his eyes so full of sadness. "I told you, I'm not leaving."

With a sigh, he pulled slowly from my arms and got to his feet. The cold hit me at once, not that his body was much warmer than the night, but there was a void when he left. I shivered, and crossed my arms over my almost exposed chest. "If they're coming here, then you must leave. They will think you've had a hand in hiding the opera ghost."

"But where will you go?" I was still kneeling on the ground.

"Go? Why, to justice. Or, they will call it that."

I shot to my feet. "No! We've just gone through this, I won't let them kill you."

Those sad eyes met mine again. "Christine… could I touch you? Once more?"

"Of course!" I took two quick steps and stood just in front of him. A bare, shaking hand rose to brush against my cheek. I leaned into the touch and he pressed his palm against my skin. "You have to leave," I said.

"You have no idea," he whispered, ignoring my words, "no idea how this feels." He sighed so that my hair moved to tickle my neck.

My heart was breaking for him. To have never felt human touch was unfathomably cruel. How could I deny him a few more seconds? My breathing sped as I raised my hand in return, pressing it against his bare cheek. He flinched, but didn't draw away. My fingers nudged his face up so that his eyes met mine. They were full of fear, hope, and wonder. The anger was gone from them. "What's your name?"

He grimaced as if he tasted something bitter. "It's nothing so fitting as 'Opera Ghost.'"

"Please tell me. You're not a ghost, a monster, or even an angel. You're a man. And men have names."

Finally, he said, "They called me Erik, not that it ever held much meaning." His voice wasn't bitter or sad, but tired.

"Erik," I repeated. Suddenly, the man I'd just held in my arms became much more real. His eyes fell and he took a deep breath that shook as he released it. "We have to leave. The gendarmes will be here before sunrise, I know it."

Without taking his eyes from me, he gathered both of my hands in his and brought them to his lips, but stopped short of meeting my skin. "Christine," his cool breath tickled my fingers, "I'm not leaving. I'm done."

Erik sighed again and sat in front of the piano, his fingers as white as the keys as he played a song that was unfamiliar, and unbearably sad. "No," I said to his back. "No, I just got you back!" His playing faltered and I saw the muscles in his back tense.

Still playing, he said, "Got me back?" Finally, his fingers stilled and he turned to look at me over his shoulder. "Do you know, when you first came back here to these ruins of everything that I once called home, I thought you were some angel of vengeance? Of justice? I thought you were a spectre, come to punish me for my sins before finally killing me."

"Erik…" My vision swam with tears.

"It's ironic." His eyes were glazed and I didn't think he was really talking to me any more. "I believe I'm either about to be punished more severely than even I could have imagined... or I can believe that promise I think I see in your eyes. God, it looks like paradise." A blink, and he was focused on my face again, watching as one tear fell from my chin to the ground. "Are you crying for me?"

Nodding, I wiped the moisture from my face. "I'm frightened that I'll lose you again. I didn't know, until you were gone…" I trailed off.

"My dear, sweet child, you're crying for you, then. I'm so sorry, Christine. I keep trying to save you, but I always end up condemning you. I see that, but it's so easy to forget."

"You're the one who's condemned, Erik! After everything you've given me, everything you are to me, I'm crying because they are determined to kill you." I rose to my feet and went to him, taking both his hands in mine and forcing him to face me. Looking down into his eyes, I said, "You have to leave here."

He stared at me for so long, my knees started to shake. I don't know if it was the desperation he must have seen in my eyes, or the feeling of my hands in his, but he blinked and gave me a single nod. I sighed and bowed to kiss his hands, cold on my lips. With a startled huff, Erik took his hands from mine and stood, saying, "I have somewhere I can go. It's where I went after the fire…"

"We must hurry."

Erik strode over to the mirrors and yanked a dark, heavy cloak off of the side, pulling it smoothly over his shoulders. Then, he bent and plucked black leather gloves off of the floor, at the same time reaching behind another mirror and fetched a small bag which jingled as he rose. "Go to the boat." With his words, I threw my own cloak over my shoulders, fastening it over my ruined dress.

Being pushed steadily down the canal in that tiny boat with Erik was hauntingly familiar. Every now and again I'd glance up at his half-face and remember how I thought him an angel. Looking at him now, I knew that he was no angel, but I watched his arms propel the boat faster than I ever could and the intensity of his eyes as he focused on the dark water ahead and couldn't help the rush of admiration. What would I do if I lost him again? And if it was Raoul who killed him? I couldn't bear it.

When the boat bumped against the shore, Erik sprang onto the rock and held his hands out towards me. I placed my hands on his shoulders and let him lift me at my waist, spinning me onto the shore. His hands slid from me and I let my arms fall, but I could recognize that look in his eyes. I'd seen it in him before, but I'd always been too frightened or intimidated to admit it to myself. Even, now, after all my boldness down by his piano, I could feel my stomach clench with nerves. There was too much to feel at once. "Come," I whispered, leading him toward the street. As we neared the exit, my heart sank. It was far too light out for the streetlamps alone; it was almost daylight. Starting to panic, I clutched Erik's sleeve. "Erik, they'll be here any moment!"

"Damn," he whispered. It was so easy down in the catacombs to lose track of time, but it was even easier when your whole world was shifting. We'd both been careless. "If they are searching the city again, there's no way I can make it to the other house, not in daylight."

My heart was racing again. It wasn't fair! Every time I thought we were going to be alright, the world sent another weapon at us. Where could he go? Who could help us? Madame Giry's face flashed in my mind, but only for a moment. She'd washed her hands of Erik, and was living at Raoul's home, besides. My eyes rolled as I tried to think of a solution.

"Christine," Erik's voice called me back to the tunnel. "You have to go back. I don't see any other way, I have to face them."

"No! There's another way; there has to be."

His hand, gloved now, rose to touch my cheek and his mouth lifted in a sad smile. "The fact that you care is enough for me. Christine, it's more than I dared hope for and more than I've ever had. Thank you."

I pulled his hand away, frustrated. "Oh, Erik, stop it! Don't stand there defeated, help me think of what to do!" For some reason, his shocked face brought a memory back to me. Actually, a few memories of rich men after the operas, laughing and joking together as their wives talked to the singers out of earshot, asking the managers where they could find… extra entertainment. The managers, or stagehands, or whoever, would always point them in the same direction. The Populaire's most beneficial business partner, le Fleur Rouge. As I once heard one of the male dancers say, it was secretly famous for the "high quality liquor served by high quality women." Sometimes the girls in the ballet would joke that, if one twisted an ankle or was slow to learn a step, they could always find work at the Fleur. I didn't care about any of that at the moment, I cared about the most important aspect of the Fleur's fame. It's unyielding and loyal discretion.

I gave Erik's hand a hard squeeze and said, "How much money do you have?"

His eyes narrowed. "A month's salary. Why?"

"Because, I know where we can go. Follow me!" I threw up my hood and crawled through the entrance, and waited for him to do the same. After a moment, he emerged, the hood of his cloak pulled so low I wondered how he could see anything. I glanced up and down the street to make sure that we weren't seen in the dim early morning light, and set off past the charred wood and toward the (now) most elegant building on the street. When we'd almost reached the Fleur, Erik put a hand around my wrist and pulled me in the space between two buildings. A rat scurried away from us and I shuddered. "What is it?"

"Christine, we are not going there," he growled.

"Can you tell me an alternative that doesn't end with you at the end of a gun?" Before he could answer, I strode quickly away, only stopping on the threshold of the Fleur. I raised a fist and pounded on the door. Erik caught up with me just as an elegant, but scantily dressed young woman opened the door.

"Can I help you?" She crossed her arms when she noticed another woman at the door.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Now that I was here, I realized I had no idea what to say. The girl raised an eyebrow at me, waiting. Then, her eyes narrowed as she studied me. I swallowed hard and dropped my face, praying she wouldn't recognize me. "We require a room," Erik interjected.

"Well, this isn't an inn, monsieur. You and the wifey will have to go a bit farther up the road." She made to close the door, but Erik put a gloved hand on the dark red wood, his hood still riding low over his face.

"You don't understand," his voice was low and smooth, a tone I'd never heard him use, but that beautiful voice made me feel exposed. A glance up at the girl's glazed eyes told me that she wasn't immune to its power, either. "My wife and I are interested in exploring your establishment's wonderful offerings." He reached into his cloak and pulled out the bag of money, holding it just in front of him. "And we'd like a room in which to enjoy them, privately."

Her eyes widened at the bag and then rested on Erik's cloak. "Monsieur, I believe we can accommodate you." As she led us both inside, chatting to Erik about the various costs of renting a room, having food delivered, and company provided, I satisfied my curiosity about the Fleur. The walls were mirrored, draped here and there with plush red curtains. The room immediately off the main entryway was some sort of parlour. There were couches and large chairs everywhere, red and gold pillows strewn about under a cloud of expensive cigar smoke. There were a few… patrons still there from the night before: rich men draped with half-naked women, smiling and joking with each other as if the world outside didn't exist. The place itself could have belonged to a queen, but there was nothing regal about the people in it.

The girl, Ellie, led us up the stairs and to a room on the third floor, the very last in the hall. Her eyes on where Erik's face lay under the hood, she seductively reached into her exposed bosom and took out a gold key, opened the door and stepped back, saying, "I believe this room will do just fine. Let me know if you need _anything_ at all." She let us into the room, giving my arm a soft stroke as I passed her. I pulled away, a startled look on my face. She chuckled, told us she'd get us a key shortly, and left.

Inside the room, candles were already lit and waiting. There must have been a servant listening at the door, and I was impressed at the attention to detail and the discretion. The room could have been copied from the parlour, except instead of cigar smoke and couches, there was an enormous four-poster bed. Erik moved to the one window and drew the curtains shut before turning to me where I stood just inside the door. Honestly, I must have looked as overwhelmed as I felt.

"I believe I'm safe here, Christine," he said. He looked down at his feet and took a deep breath before raising his hands to remove the hood. "Now, you must go. Christine Daae can't be seen in a place like this, but that's the least of your worries. If, by some chance, they search this place and find you here with me, you'll be arrested. Arrested at the very least."

I almost argued with him, but he was right. He was as safe as we could make him, for today at least, so I had to do my best to get back before it was truly day. "You promise you'll do your best to stay out of sight?"

He grimaced. "Haven't I always?"

"You know I mean… you won't let them take you?"

"My word. I won't throw away your hard work." His mouth lifted in half a smile. I answered it with a smile of my own.

"I do have to go." I took a few shaking steps so that I was looking up at him. "I have to go, but I don't want to."

He studied me, his head tilted to the side. "Your greatest fault," he said, "is that you actually believe that."

I blinked. "I _do_ want to stay. You know that, don't you?"

"Maybe my greatest fault is that I'll never believe it. Now go, the day is almost here."


	10. Chapter 10

_A sweet disorder in the dress_

 _Kindles in clothes a wantonness:_

 _...An erring lace, which here and there_

 _Enthralls the crimson stomacher-_

 _...A winning wave, deserving note,_

 _In the tempestuous petticoat-_

 _A careless shoestring, in whose tie_

 _I see a wild civility-_

 _Do more bewitch me than when art_

 _Is too precise in every part._

 _-Robert Herrick_

I should have kissed him. That was the boldest thought in my mind the whole ride home. I should have shown him what he means to me, shown him how much I cared. I didn't even see his mask anymore, or the face underneath it. Even as I placed my hand on the doorknob to leave that place, I knew I should have turned around and stayed with him. God knew there was no longer a future for me with Raoul.

Now that Erik was safe, it left me to think about my own situation. How could I face Raoul? Knowing that he'd been lying to me since the fire, knowing that he cared more about revenge than his promise to me… I was disgusted. I felt for the second time as if I didn't know the man I'd given my life to at all. Did he even care about my safety? Or did he just care about beating Erik? The fact that I even had to question it gave me my answer. And what of me? There was no denying that part of my heart was no longer where I promised I'd keep it.

I snuck into the house as quietly as I could in the brightening day, waiting by the backdoor for any servant to exit, and one finally did. In my room, I dressed for another day. When I peeled the ruined dress off of my body, I shivered with the ghostly feeling of cold hands on my skin, the sudden jerk of ripping fabric. I blinked a few times, forcing the room around me back into focus, and looked at the once beautiful dress in front of me. It was filthy, lying on the ground like an accusation, the laces frayed and broken. My heart pounding, I shoved it under the massive bed and prayed the servants wouldn't change the sheets and risk glimpsing it.

So began one of the worst days of my life. I couldn't look Raoul in the eyes, even when he asked me at breakfast how I was feeling, if I'd gotten much sleep. Meg was not speaking to me, upset that I'd missed her opening night. Madame Giry was studying me, that knowing look in her eyes tinged with worry. She knew it wasn't illness that had been making me absent. I could barely find it in myself to lie about where I'd been last night. I was so tired of lying to the people in this room. I didn't even feel as if I belonged there. I knew I didn't. For whose benefit was I lying anymore? Whenever I looked at Raoul's perfect face, I felt sick. He sat there as if nothing had changed, when everything had. For him, of course, it was only another day of eating meals with his fiancee and her friends while he tried to kill the man I… well, the man who owned something in me. What that something was, I couldn't think of. Not in front of Raoul. There was only one thing to do.

The second the last meal of the day ended and Raoul escaped into his study, I went up to my room to wait. Meg still wasn't talking to me, which suited my purposes fine. Madame Giry knocked on my door, but I didn't answer, and she went away. When the house was quiet, I left. I didn't try to be quiet, I barely checked for servants, just left. I was done.

The cab dropped me on the street corner, just up from the opera house. I could see the charred wood from here, along with the blue uniforms of the gendarmes. They had their torches and their guns and they were searching the area. I ducked behind a building, thinking. I could get to the Fleur if I kept to the shadows, my cloak covering my blue gown. It was close, closer than the opera house. Luckily, I could see that the men were thinning out, leaving for the day. I waited for a gap in patrols before I slipped across the street and into an alley. Two buildings and I would be there. The streetlamps were bright, but I couldn't let the men spot me. Not when I'd finally made my decision. I moved in the shadows, stopping in the last alleyway before the Fleur. Male voices were getting louder and I moved deeper into the darkness, walking backward, my eyes trained on the lit street. My feet caught on something and the thought in my mind was that my clumsiness was going to take me from Erik. I landed hard on the bricks, my hands flinging out behind me, and I felt a sharp sting in my right palm. I gasped and slammed my other hand against my traitorous mouth. The men, their brass buttons glinting in the light from the lamp, stopped and peered into the dark. I didn't breathe, and eventually, they must have convinced themselves that any noise must have been made by rats. Had it not been the end of their day, had they not been eager to eat or drink after a day of searching, this story might have ended right in that alley. As it was, I waited for them to leave the circle of light from the lamp, closed my fist on my cut palm, and ran for the front door to the Fleur.

Holding my injured hand to my chest, I pulled the strong for the bell. Luckily, the same girl from yesterday opened the door.

"Madame!" She said, a smile stretching her pretty face. "I didn't know you stepped out!"

I doubted that anything happened in this place without her knowledge, but her lie was comforting all the same. She stepped back and I rushed up the stairs, me head bowed and feet flying toward his room. When his door opened and he filled the doorway, his hood pulled low over his face, I pushed past him into the room. I had enough sense to wait until the door closed to say. "I couldn't stay another moment, Erik. You should have seen how absurd it all was." I was pacing, hardly aware of what I was saying. "I tried so hard to focus on doing what you told me, but Raoul sat there at dinner and smiled at me, and it all felt like such a lie that I was sick to my stomach. I had to leave. If I'd stayed, I would have been sick all over the table and they'd have locked me away for the doctors, Erik. And you, all alone here without a piano or any music, I just couldn't bear it." He'd raised his face a bit to look at me, but I couldn't read his expression. "Please don't be angry with me. Truly, I tried to stay."

He only stared. After an eternity, his eyes narrowed, a sigh escaped, and he said, "How did you injure yourself?"

With a blink, I said, "I- Oh! My hand! Yes, I was avoiding the gendarmes and I tripped. The alley was so dark and there must have been a bottle." Now that I was talking (and couldn't seem to stop), my hand was starting to hurt quite a bit. I held it tighter to my chest and felt the tears prick my eyes. Erik, seemingly all business, gestured for me to sit in the armchairs around the room's fireplace. Though the room wasn't very big, it was luxurious. Then, he pulled the golden rope hanging next to the door. Seconds later, a pretty, blond girl was at the threshold, asking what we required. Erik's voice was like silk when he said, "We need clean, warm water, and clean towels, please." The girl curtsied and then scurried away.

I sat, tensed, waiting for Erik to say something, to yell, to whisper. He was silent as he pulled a towel off the bureau and kneeled in front of me. His hood was still up, but I could see the bottom edges of that cursed mask as he reached out a gloved hand and pulled my clenched fist toward him, light as a breath. My hand opened, showing a petal of blood resting in the palm. Erik pressed the towel into my hand and I watched it soak through. The cut must have been deeper than I thought. My vision tilted and I had to squeeze my eyes shut. Freed from the awful sight of blood, I could notice that Erik's fingers were shaking with a fine tremor.

There was a knock on the door and Erik's hands left mine. There was a soft clinking as he tipped the girl and when his feet came back into view, he had a few white towels draped over his arm and a green basin of steaming water which he placed on the table beside me. I closed my eyes again as he reached for my hand and pulled the towel off, wincing as it pulled at the wound. "This may sting," he said, and I felt the warm water close around my hand, soaking into the cut. I gasped and clenched my jaw to keep from whimpering. I used to watch some of the chorus girls twist their ankles so badly that they swelled to the size of an apple, then tape them up and get back on stage, unwilling to risk losing any time on stage. I was never like that, never handled pain well. I opened my eyes and focused on Erik. He'd taken his hood down, his rough leather mask in place, but as he looked at my hand, the uncovered side of his face was exposed to me and I could see that his brows were knitted together, his jaw clenched. The shaking was back in his fingers.

"Erik," I whispered. He didn't answer, but stuck the tip of his finger between his teeth, pulling the black glove off quickly, then the other, throwing the gloves by his feet, and bent over the bowl. He rubbed the back of his pale hand across his brow and then raised my hand out of the water. When I saw how the water had turned dark with blood, I turned my face away.

He brushed a towel across my hand and then, with his hand around mine, placed them both back into the water and, so gently that it barely hurt at all, he rubbed his fingers across my palm, cleaning the cut. I didn't know how, but it was so comforting to sit there in the candlelit room above the parlour where expensive women were giving rich men a very different type of comfort, surrounded by the quiet sound of water sloshing around our wrists. The world outside seemed forever away. The only thing that unsettled me was that he had yet to look in my eyes.

"Erik?" I said again. And again, he said nothing. "Erik, I-"

"Do you have any idea what could have happened, Christine?" His voice was sharp, a harsh contrast to the gentle movement of his fingers under the water.

"I couldn't sit there, Erik, I couldn't stand it."

"Of course you could have!" Finally, his eyes met mine and I was frightened by the intensity of them. "Do you know what I've been doing all day? I've been sitting hunched at that window watching gendarmes tear the bones of that opera house apart, comb the streets, and question people people on the street, hunting me. The only thought that kept me from madness was that you were safe. I would see you in my mind's eye being dragged off to the prison for helping me, then remember that you were safe and warm in a rich house, eating fine food and drinking fine wine. Now, here you are, cold and bleeding, and I'm so glad." He dropped his eyes, ashamed. "I'm so glad to see you." Before I could say anything, he lifted our hands out of the water, examined the wound, and wrapped a clean towel around my hand. "Hold it there," he said, and went to the door again and pulled the cord. When the girl arrived, he said, "Wine, please. White, chilled. " He said a few more instructions, but I didn't catch them. She left with a curtsy and closed the door.

My mind was in a fog. I stared at his back as he stood facing the door and I said, "I don't like wine."

"It'll help with the pain."

"I don't like it." Something in my voice made him turn, his eyes narrowed in thought. He didn't say anything, but moved to sit in the chair across from mine. "What will we do now?" I said. His eyes on mine, he shook his head.

"I had a plan, once. But everything was different then. It was all a dream."

We fell silent until another knock sounded at the door. This time, Erik returned with a bottle of wine and two glasses on a silver tray. He poured a glass and held it towards me, but I shook my head. "Just try it, Christine. Even if you don't enjoy the taste, it will help."

"I do not like it." I met his eyes. "Please, Erik. I don't like it."

"Tell me why." His eyes were knowing. I don't know how, but he knew that it was more than distaste that made my voice stern.

I shook my head, but said, "It changes people."

He took a breath and said, "No, it doesn't. It just shows what's underneath."

My eyes filled with tears and I dropped my head into my uninjured hand. Suddenly, he was kneeling in front of me, his hands resting on the arms of my chair. "I won't ask you what happened, because if you confirm my suspicions, I don't know what I'd do to him. Christine, look at me." I raised my face. He was angry, but fighting hard against it. His voice softened, "I know your hand hurts and all I can do about it is dull it with the wine. Please, let me help you."

I studied him, saw the pleading look in his eyes, and nodded. He reached behind him, and handed me the wine. I took a sip and raised my eyebrows in surprise. It was sweet, so much sweeter than the wine I'd had with Raoul. "I didn't know it could be so sweet."

"I thought you'd prefer it. You always liked sweet foods."

"Will you have any?" I asked. He rose and poured some wine in the other glass. Taking a seat, he raised his glass in a toast of sorts, then sipped from it. For a moment, it made me nervous to remember how Raoul reacted to wine, but I quickly stomped those feelings down. Looking down into my own wine, I flexed my hand, felt the stab of pain, and threw the glass back, draining it into my mouth. It was delicious, just cold enough to be refreshing. Erik leaned forward with the bottle and filled my glass again. I was already feeling warmer, though the wine was cold in my hand. I raised the glass to my lips and, noticing that his was still full, looked at him with a question in my eyes. He pulled in his lip, released it, and drank from his glass. I took a large sip from my own, thinking that it tasted even sweeter now. It wasn't long before my limbs started feeling pleasantly numb and the candles glowed even more softly. I sighed and smiled at Erik.

"You were right," I said.

"I generally am," he said gravely, but then his mouth lifted in a smile and I laughed in surprise. "I'm glad you're feeling better. Because we have to figure out how to get you back to the vicomte."

I sat up. "What? No, I'm not going back!"

He rubbed a hand across his brow again. "Yes, you are."

Frustrated, I stood. "No! You don't understand, do you? Or do you still not believe that I am sane enough to know my own heart? Erik, I can't go back there. Don't you want me to stay?"

"Of course I do!" Erik drained his wine glass and tossed the glass on the chair as he stood. "I want it so badly that I've been fighting myself ever since you stood in that doorway, blood dripping from your hand. But do I believe that you know what you want? No, Christine, I don't." Erik was towering over me, but the wine made me bold and I stared up at him. "Do you know that when I first took you down into my home, I was convinced that you would _want_ to stay there? Then, when you left me for that pig vicomte, I only let you go because you told me it was what you _wanted_. Now, you tell me you want to stay again. I can't survive another of your mood swings."

I moved closer to him. "The only way to make you believe that I want to stay… is to stay. So, I'm with you. Wherever you choose to go, I'm with you."

"You can't." Ice crept along my heart, and he went on, "Why are they hunting me, Christine?" I blinked in surprise and he waited, knowing the answer.

"Because… you killed Buquet and Piangi…"

"You think they care so much about a perverted crewman and a bloated tenor? Why are they hunting me, still?"

I paused. "Because you kidnapped me."

He nodded. "If you were to disappear again, I would not be surprised if your vicomte calls upon the militia. If you stayed tonight, we wouldn't get a mile tomorrow."

Somewhere in my mind, I knew he was right, but even with that knowledge, all I felt was the sharp sting of rejection. Maybe it was the wine, or the fact that I could see the heat in his eyes, feel his gaze on my skin, but I knew he was fighting something inside himself, and I wanted to see what it was. I took a deep breath and growled, "It was never me that you loved."

He blinked as if I'd slapped him. "Excuse me?"

"It was never me that you loved, nor you that I loved. It was the music all along, it had to be."

"Never loved you?" His voice was almost a shout. "Every night for a year, you cried for your father and it touched my heart when I never thought that I had one! Before you, my life was blackness, but Christine, you glowed. I thought I would give my very soul so that voice would never hold an ounce of sadness again. Never loved you? When you kissed me in that lake, it ripped my whole world down, and when you left me in the dark again, it destroyed me. I loved you so much that with a whisper, you can make me forget all the cruelty I know is in the world. Then, when you leave, I think there's _nothing_ but the cruelty. Don't tell me I don't love you."

"Then don't tell me to leave."

His mouth dropped open and I saw admiration flash across his face as he realized what I'd made him admit. I didn't know what other expressions were on his face because suddenly, his lips were on mine and my eyes were closed. The first time I'd been kissed, it had been a manager's son behind the backdrop for a comedy, which was fitting considering how terribly slimy it felt. When Raoul had first kissed me, his mouth was soft and skillful, coaxing passion from me with every little press of lips. When I'd first kissed Erik, trying to save Raoul's life, I thought the only thing I felt was desperation and fear. Maybe that was true, but this kiss was so much different. His mouth was firm over mine, his lips almost frozen, pressed so tightly to mine that I had to tilt my head so my teeth wouldn't scrape against my lips. There was no skill, almost as if he'd done it on instinct. Like he couldn't think of what else to do in that moment.

Neither could I.

 _ **If there are any mistakes in this chapter (in short, if it's garbage), then that's probably because I finished it seconds ago. It was taking too long to get it right, so I figured I'd just get it out here.**_

 _ **Thank you all for reading and reviewing!**_


	11. Chapter 11

_Until I'm gone, Love._

 _That's how long I'll love you._

 _Forever? Not a chance._

 _I don't know what forever is_

 _Nor do you._

 _That promise is glass when the_

 _whiskey's gone._

 _It's a smile in the dark_

 _There's no fire in it_

 _no truth._

 _While I'm here, I know life._

 _It's all there is. Fire and truth._

 _I'll love you til I'm gone._

I never decided to do this. Truly, if I'd known that this is where I would have ended up, I would have lived out my days as the melancholy, but safe, Vicomtesse. Then again, I've sometimes found that the greatest joys come from the greatest pain. I've felt pain such as would break my father's heart; kill him all over again. But one night, surrounded by whores and velvet, pain blossomed into the greatest joy I'd ever known.

Erik's lips were rough, cracked, neglected. The tremor in them told me that he expected to be shoved away at any second. I rested my hands against his chest and slid them up, his shoulders firm and very real under my palms. The towel had fallen off at some point, but the sting in my palm was nothing. Erik's hands landed on my waist and it felt strange to feel the soft touch, considering how strongly his mouth had landed on mine. Tenderness welled up in me and I could feel all the rejections he'd had, the cold of never having kissed anyone, of being unwanted. I put my hands on either side of his face, one hand on skin, the other on leather, and moved my mouth over his, softly, worshipfully, showing him how. His lips parted on a sigh and I tangled my fingers in his thin hair, bringing him closer to me, deepening the kiss.

"Don't, Christine," he whispered into my mouth, "please, don't. Don't."

I didn't listen, because I don't think he wanted me to. He was timid, waiting for me to say it was alright, even though I was showing him that it was. "I'm with you, my angel. Erik, I'm with you." I let my mouth return to his, being careful to let him catch up to me. Like with music, he was a quick study and it wasn't long before he was leaving caution behind. His hands were no longer resting on my waist, but traveling along my back, pressing me against the length of his body. His mouth wasn't waiting for me to lead, but moving with mine, matching me. When my tongue ran along his lip, his danced along mine. God, I was lost, but it wasn't enough.

I could feel the ridges of his chest through his thin shirt, and when I pulled gently on it, inching it out from where it was tucked into his pants, all I wanted was for him to let me. And when he suddenly went rigid, then pulled my hands from his body, turning around and showing me his back, I was stung. I waited for him to say something, but he stood staring at the wall, his arms at his sides, back heaving with his breaths.

"Erik, what's wrong?"

"I feel as if you're leading me through fire, Christine."

I smiled at his back and took a step toward him. "So do I."

"No," he turned, glaring at me. With a flinch, I stepped back again. "I can't do this. I know you're with me, and I know what this means, and I want it so badly. But if we do this, Christine, then there's truly no turning back, because I will not ever let you go. For me, this means forever."

Frustrated and a bit hurt, I said, "Do you really see me as a woman who gives away her innocence and leaves?"

I watched my love's eyes turn cruel as he said, "Haven't you already? How do I know that you'll stay with me, when you didn't stay with him?"

I drew back as if he'd struck me, my eyes filling with tears. "After everything," I said, my voice low, "I could hardly kiss Raoul. What you must think of me, to say something like that…" I shook my head in disgust.

His head hung forward so that I couldn't see his face. As I watched, he seemed to shrink into himself, crumpling into a chair. "I can't understand. I just can't think… why would you stay with me? I'm a demon, a monster."

I ran to him, kneeling on the floor, my hands on his arms as I looked up into his face. "Erik, you are no monster. I love-"

He placed a hand over my mouth. "I know you believe that, sweet child. But what will you believe tomorrow?"

I pulled his hand away just enough to place a soft kiss in his palm. His eyes fluttered closed. "Tomorrow, I will believe that I am the most fortunate woman in the world. To have the love of a man so special, so wonderfully unlike anyone I've ever known, is a gift. I see that now, and I'll see that tomorrow. I love you, and it's that simple. It's like I was lost in the city for hours, looking for one building, and realizing I was in its shadow the whole time. I looked up and there you were."

By now, tears were rolling down his cheek and his breathing was rapid, coming in short bursts that betrayed his turmoil. "Christine, what if… I can't? What if I hurt you? What if you destroy me again? There was hardly any of me left, I don't know what I'd do if you-"

I silenced him with my lips, rising up in one quick movement to cover his mouth with mine. "I love you," I murmured against his thin lips, letting my arms pull him towards me. This time, there was no hesitancy as he caught me in his arms and pulled me onto his lap. Our mouths worked together furiously, and that slow heat curled from my belly, working its way to my fingertips. I sighed and felt his face lose that tense, desperate expression. It was incredible to be able to feel each of his muscles relax, my whole body curled into his on the chair. It was so precious, the trust I'd finally been able to coax out of him.

Suddenly, we were no longer on the chair. Erik had secured his arms under me and lifted my body, taking my weight easily. Without taking his lips from mine, he carried me across the room, to the gaudy, ornate four-poster bed. With a reverence I didn't deserve, he laid me down on top of the linen sheets. He stood next to the bed for a moment, looking at me with something like wonder. Then, a small smile on his half-face, he crawled over me, and I was struck once again by the grace with which he moved, like waves over sand.

He proceeded to show me his love with kisses on every inch of exposed skin he could find. When he moved back to my neck, I let my hands roam into his thin hair, but found my way impeded by the string securing his mask in place. With my heart in my throat, I caught the string in my fingers, going slow so that he could stop me if he wished. I bit my lip when he did; his strong fingers reached back to catch mine.

"No, Christine."

"But, Erik, I've seen you before. It doesn't frighten me anymore. I love all of you."

"I believe you, love."

"Then-"

"Please. Maybe someday, but for now, I need it. Every time this mask has been removed, it's been met with screams and horror. Even if you don't feel that way, it's all I would be able to think of." His hand traced a slow line from my shoulder, down my side, to my hip, and I shivered. "And I don't want to think of anything but how wonderfully, unfathomably beautiful you are, and the fact that you're mine." I nodded, and he sighed. "Thank you."

With a smirk, I said. "You should know, however, that it has now become a challenge for me to make you remove it. Not tonight, maybe not for many nights, but one day, you'll lie over me and smile at me like this with your whole face. And you'll know how handsome I think you are."

And he was smiling, chuckling softly. It was beautiful. "I look forward to it, Christine…" He trailed off, his smile disappearing. "You really will stay?"

"Of course. Erik, the only time since my father died that I've felt like I can breathe is when I'm with you. It's only now that I realize what it means. I couldn't leave any more than I could take my own life."

There was no conversation for a long time. My lips were caught in much more pleasurable business as Erik returned my words with actions. I could feel his hardness pressed against my hip as his hands caught my face, angling my mouth for a kiss. I'd stumbled into enough male dressing rooms after rehearsals that I knew what was waiting under his trousers. At first, I felt nervousness fluttering in my stomach, feeling the evidence of what was about to happen pressed against me, but then he sighed against my mouth, "I love you," and my hesitations disappeared. This was my angel, and I wanted to belong completely to him.

Finally, my hands returned to his shirt and he reared up to help me remove it. His skin was ivory white, perfect except for one patch of jarring red skin on his shoulder. I knew that it matched the skin of his face, and once again felt all the honor of being allowed to see it. When he lowered again to kiss me, I was sure to place a line of kisses over his shoulder, right over that patch. Erik's lips were on my neck again and I threw my head to the side to expose more to him. I opened my eyes to see that the wall next to the bed was taken up by a large mirror. A corner of my mind balked at the thought of how many hundreds of couples were caught in that mirror, just as Erik and I were, but then his hand was pulling my skirt up, and I could see it's journey up my leg, exposing undergarments, then skin, until finally, his hand met the softness of my thigh. I watched my eyes flutter closed and marveled at the image in my mind. Erik over me, Erik loving me, touching me as I touched him.

"Tell me what you want, Christine," Erik whispered. I just looked at him, a question on my face. "I've made the mistake of not asking before."

I shook my head. "I want you."

He smiled, but his eyes were blazing, dark. "You have me. Now what do you want me to _do._ "

My tongue darted out to wet my suddenly dry lips. I'd never felt more daring, or more beautiful, as I whispered, "Undress me." Erik sat back on his heels and brought me with him. His hands flew deftly down the buttons on my gown, then my corset, and I felt the night air on my exposed back. With a kiss to my cheek, he moved my sleeves slowly down my arms, unwrapping me. He kept his face buried in my bare shoulder, waiting for me. I beat down the urge to cover myself, and murmured, "Look at me." He did, leaning back, his hands on my waist, thumbs rubbing back and forth on my skin. His gaze roamed from my face, down, and back again. I will never forget the look in his eyes for as long as I live. I felt like the most precious thing in the world. Gently, I was laid back down to the bed, and he slipped the rest of my clothes slowly down my legs, and dropped them to the floor. Completely bare beneath him, I had never felt safer, or more aroused.

I was almost ashamed of how badly I wanted him, how desperate I was for his touch. I had to stop myself from rubbing my thighs together, from tearing his clothes off and forcing him to do _something_ to ease the pressure. When I moaned, "Kiss me," I could see another of his walls come down. I couldn't hide how much I needed him to take me if I'd tried. He almost fell on top of me, the leather of the mask chafing my face with his kiss, but I didn't care. My hands tore at the fastenings on his trousers, and he helped me remove them. I sighed at the feeling of his body along mine, skin on skin. "Touch me, Erik. Please." Suddenly, his hands were everywhere. They skimmed along my waist, up over my breasts, making me arch into him. When a hand found its way between my legs, I almost cried out, but I bit my lip until it was only a whimper.

"Don't hide from me," he growled into my skin. "Not from me." His mouth closed over a nipple and his long finger slipped inside me, where I'd never allowed anyone before. I couldn't stop myself from crying out as his thumb began to circle me, making my body shake and pant. The pressure had been nothing to what it was now, flowing, building in me until I was writhing against his hand and mouth, my own hand gripping his wrist, begging for more. When the pressure exploded, I thought I would die from the pleasure of it. I focused on relearning to breathe and was only vaguely aware of Erik moving over me. He ran a hand down my face and I opened my eyes to see him, his half-face glistening with sweat, his eyes filled with hunger. My own grew again at the sight.

"I have to take you now, Christine," his angel's voice was low, gravelly. I'd never heard anything more beautiful. Suddenly his eyes lost some of their hunger and filled with concern. "I've never done this. I've read, I've studied, but I don't know. If at any moment you feel too much pain, you must tell me to stop."

"Pain?" I asked. I remembered some of the girls at the opera house talking. They'd said there was pain, but I'd just assumed that those girls were with cruel men. I couldn't imagine Erik doing anything to hurt me.

He nodded. "Most women feel pain the first time, but only the first. Your body adjusts. I need you now, but if I hurt you, please tell me. I will stop." He stared at me until I nodded, until he knew I understood. After the pleasure he'd given me, I couldn't imagine any pain that wouldn't be worth it.

His hand returned to my most sensitive place, his fingers working slowly in and out of me. It wasn't long before I was on the edge again, that pressure building in my core. I felt him add another finger, then another, and it still wasn't enough. "Please, Erik," I moaned. His fingers slipped out of me. " _Please_." I cried out again, but this time in pain, as he thrust himself inside me in one quick movement. He released a deep moan and nearly collapsed on me, his length buried inside me. Tears pricked at my eyes as my body tried to stretch for him. When he pulled back and, more softly this time, pushed back in, I couldn't hide a whimper.

He stopped. "Christine? My love, have I hurt you?"

Honestly, I was frightened. The pain was deep, such as I'd never felt. I squeezed my eyes shut and turned my face from him, my hands in fists at my side. When I opened my eyes again, I saw us reflected in that mirror, the room soft with candlelight. We were as close as two people could be, his pale body flush with mine. The mirror showed the uncovered side of his face, and it was filled with concern and fear. He was staring down at me, terrified that he'd hurt me. My hands relaxed, my breaths slowed, and I turned back to him. "It does hurt, but don't stop." I rested my hand on his face and rose up to kiss him. "Maybe, go very slowly."

He nodded, then his eyes fluttered closed as he moved, so softly, in me. I lay back and tried my best to relax, letting myself think of nothing but how much I loved him. Soon, that sharp pain in me began to turn to something else. His head lowered to my breast again, his tongue circling my nipple. One hand propped him above me, clenching in the sheets in time with his groans. I watched him; every muscle tensed and relaxed seemingly independent of the others. I saw when his other hand moved down from my chest to where our bodies met, watched as his finger dipped into my curls and pressed against a part of me that set me on fire. There was still pain, but now it was fighting with the pleasure, and soon, it became just another feeling. When the explosion came in me again, it surprised us both. Erik's slow and steady rhythm changed and he thrust into me with abandon, seeking his own pleasure. I was grateful that I could see it, that I could watch as his eyes rolled back and closed, his mouth open in a silent shout. And when he lowered himself over me, still inside me, and sighed my name, I knew I was right. The pain had been worth it.

 **I'm so sorry this chapter has taken so long to come out. I'm the worst.**

 **So I've tried to lay on the cheese a little bit in this chapter, because I think that's how Christine would think. I can't forget that she's still very young when the events with the Phantom take place, and I think that innocence and hunger for love is what originally drew him to her. She's young and in love, and that comes with all the melodrama!**

 **Also, remember that my Phantom is, at least in appearance, based mostly on Gerard Butler's. I may take some liberties...**


	12. Chapter 12

_His shoulders like mountains_

 _Block the window._

 _There's nothing out there anyway._

 _His breath is air,_

 _His skin is water,_

 _He touches me like I'm his_

 _But I'm mine, and so is he._

Gratitude enveloped me. I tried to let some negative thought invade my mind, to pierce the pink glow and make it burn the red of urgency, for I know we were still in danger, but I couldn't. His arm was around me, a heavy safety. His voice hummed in my ear, softened by the sound of his breath, a lullaby. Enclosed in red velvet and warm candlelight, nothing but his hands could touch me.

I suppose it speaks to how much of a child I still was. Then again, I couldn't help but feel every bit a woman as I pulled my eyes to his half-hidden face and saw him as lost in paradise as I was.

His hand was twisted into my hair, my cheek pressed into his smooth chest, our legs entwined. The covers were on the floor and the only heat in the room came from the glowing fireplace and our bodies. It was a perfect moment, frozen in time, so safe. So fragile.

Erik's humming was a soothing mystery. "What is that?" I whispered.

"Nothing yet. You'll help me make it a song."

I turned my head, my chin resting on his chest. "I can't write music."

"You've never tried. I'll teach you."

With a smirk, I raised myself up on my hands and knees and leaned over him. "And what will I teach _you_?"

He chuckled and caught my hips in his hands, turning us both so that he was above me. "Oh," he said, "a great deal, I hope." His kiss made me weak, even after the hundreds we'd shared that night. I clasped my hands behind his neck, bringing him closer to me. "Do you need to sleep?" he murmured.

"Probably," I said, and wrapped a leg around his waist.

With a sigh, he slipped inside me. "Erik," I whispered, my eyes already sliding closed. I was sore and his length felt as though it were tearing small holes in me, but I knew what pleasure waited on the other side of the pain. His head buried itself in the space between my neck and shoulder- it must have been becoming a new favorite place of his. He moved slowly, savoring every sensation as if he was afraid he'd never experience it again. Even when his breathing hitched and tremors ran through his body and mine, and my legs circled his hips to bring him even closer, he never increased the frequency of his movements. His head remained at my shoulder, placing kisses there and pressing his leather-covered nose into my neck.

After, when we were relearning how to breathe, his head was on my chest, resting in that flat space between my breasts, his fingers tracing circles across my stomach. His fingers were pale, even against my white skin. Truthfully, I was exhausted, but he never seemed to get tired, and I didn't want to waste a second with my eyes closed. I ran my fingers over his hair, irritated that the strings of the mask disturbed their path.

"Erik…" I bit my lip.

"What, love?"

"Won't you… can't I… I so wish you'd take it off, Erik."

I felt his breath race across my skin as he sighed, still turned away from me. "No."

I did the only thing I could. I leaned over him, kissed his hair, and told him I loved him. After that night, there was nothing I wouldn't share with him, nothing I wouldn't give him. That's why it was so difficult for me to understand why he couldn't give me everything. His walls were so thick and so high, that I don't know if I could ever get completely inside of them. Time would be the only thing that might work. I would give him a lifetime. Determined as I was not to waste a second sleeping, my eyelids would not cooperate. With the weight of his body on mine, I couldn't help but let the calmness steal me, and I fell asleep.

The emptiness woke me. It was amazing how quickly I'd grown used to the weight of Erik's body next to mine, and when it left, my mind called me to attention. "Erik?" I called, stretching my hands into the growing morning light.

"Get dressed, Christine." His voice, hard and cold, came to me from the window beside the bed.

"What's happened?" Though I already knew. We only had one enemy, and it was separation. They'd found us. Erik turned toward me, his mouth set in a grim, familiar frown.

"Someone in this establishment was not as trustworthy as we'd hoped. The police are surrounding us now."

I threw back the covers and snatched my clothes up from the ground, wincing slightly at the pain from the cut in my hand and the tenderness between my thighs. The pain was nothing, though, to the panic that was making my eyes water, my knees tremble. Erik helped me dress, yanking my stays into place and lacing my underclothes. When I was dressed, he remained standing behind me. He leaned down to press his face between my shoulder and neck.

"You have to go," he said.

I whipped around to face him. "No! I told you last night, Erik, I'm not leaving. I'm staying with you, forever."

My heart was pounding and panic blurred my vision, so it took me a few moments to notice how calm Erik appeared. WIth a smirk, he said, "I'm a very good ghost, Christine, but not when I'm with you. If you come with me, I'll be distracted, clumsy, and slow." He took my hands in his as I raised a brow at him. "You need to trust me. I promise, I'm never letting you go again."

"So what do we do?"

He took a deep breath and said, "You let them catch you, and you go back to the Vicomte-"

"I won't!"

"Listen! You go back, for two days. I swear on my life, I will come for you."

"He won't let me go. He'll know I was with you…"

With a nod, Erik said, "He will. Because you'll tell him. You'll tell him you took a walk

back to the opera house to see the ruins and the phantom stole you again."

By now, I saw what Erik was doing and I shook my head. "No, I won't ever let them think of you that way again. If I tell them what you are and what you mean to me, how I love you, they can't say you're a monster."

"This is the only way, Love." His thumb brushed my cheek. "I'm still a murderer. No amount of pretty words from you will change that. If you stay with me, we'll be caught, and you'll be my accomplice. Go, let the Vicomte protect you, and I'll come for you. They can't take this from us. This is what we'll do..."

When Erik opened the window and perched on the sill, his cloak drawn low over his face, I felt confident that his plan would work. Still, fear gripped my heart and stole my breath. I kept wide eyes focused on Erik. There were heavy footsteps on the stairs behind our door, and the rattle of the knob as someone tried to open it. "They'll send for the key in a moment," Erik said. "I must go."

I gripped his arm. "Two days. A second longer, and I will find you myself."

"On the second night, keep your balcony window unlocked." He leant down, and I rose on my toes to meet his mouth with mine. A desperate press of lips was all we had time for when we both heard the turn of the key in the lock. "I love you, Christine." With that, he pulled himself out of the window and up to the roof, using only the strength in his arms.

When his shoes disappeared from view, I ran to take my place next to the door. When it started to open, I called on every bit of acting training I had, shoved fear into my voice, and screamed, "Stop, please! Don't open it!"

"Miss Daae?" A man's voice called through the crack in the door.

"He's here! He says if you open that door, he'll cut my throat," I sobbed. "Oh God, help me, please, God!"

"I speak now to the demon holding Miss Daae! We have the building surrounded, every entrance blocked. Give her up now, and you will be treated fairly."

Erik told me to stall for as long as I could, but to give him at least ten minutes. His life depended on my convincing these soldiers I would die if that door opened. "The Opera Ghost says he wants everyone at the bottom of the stairs, now!" It wasn't difficult to make my voice tremble.

"We can't do that, Miss Daae. Listen, murderer! You will not make it out of this building alive if you do not give us Miss Daae here and now. A coward like you must know that this is the only way."

"Please, monsieur, do not insult him!" I screeched.

"I'm sorry, Miss, but only a coward would speak through the woman he's holding."

I yelped as if the imaginary knife had just poked me. "The bottom of the stairs, now!"

"Move, move!" The voice called to someone else. I smiled as I heard boots backing down the stairs. "Alright," the voice was much more distant, coming now from the entryway to the building, "We're at the bottom. Let her go!"

The back and forth lasted for a few more minutes, but eventually, I heard the men begin to make their way back upstairs. I don't know if they recognized the deceit, but they certainly began to hear the emptiness of my threats against myself. If Erik was holding me because he was desperate to have me forever, then they probably figured he would not kill me today. Regardless, I knew that the act was wearing thin, and I prayed that I had held out long enough for Erik to escape. With a deep breath, I threw the door open and ran downstairs. "The window!" I yelled at the group of gendarmes waiting on the stairs. "He pushed me away and climbed out the window!"

A man caught me in his arms, and I sobbed into his shirt, the buttons of his uniform pressing against my skin. "It's alright, mademoiselle, the vicomte is waiting outside."

My stomach roiled at the thought of seeing Raoul after all of this, knowing that he was responsible for the manhunt for Erik. I wrapped the memory of Erik's lips on mine around me, and prepared to meet my fiancee.

 **I'm sorry this took so long. There really is no excuse, just life getting in the way again.**


	13. Chapter 13

_An ache_

 _Coils itself in me_

 _A tremor_

 _Finds its way through me_

 _Save me_

 _Soothe me_

 _Teach the ache a reprise_

 _Turn the tremor to a quake_

 _They wait for you_

 _to coil yourself in me_

 _To find your way through me_

Raoul held me close in the back of the carriage while the chief of the gendarmes across from us, watching us with a blank expression. Raoul's fingers brushed through my tangled curls and I wondered if he could smell Erik on my skin. I knew I could, and it was the only thing keeping me calm, keeping me from throwing the door open and jumping out of that carriage.

"Oh, Christine, I'm so sorry. It's alright, you're safe," Raoul kept murmuring. "Don't cry dearest, it's alright…" There were tears streaking down my face, but they weren't for myself. I prayed with all my heart that Erik had escaped, that he was far away from the gendarmes, hiding somewhere safe and warm until he could come for me. If he was caught, he'd be killed. If he was killed, I knew that my life would have to end shortly after. There was nothing without him anymore. "We're almost home, love. My loveliest Christine." Raoul pressed a kiss to the top of my head and I almost shuddered.

Finally, the carriage bumped up against the curb before Raoul's grand house and the gendarme rose to help me out of the carriage, Raoul following close behind. He took my arm immediately and I kept my face down, only feigning exhaustion. Truthfully, the quiet times between making love last night had been the most restful I'd had in months. I only looked up when I heard Meg's high voice shout, "Christine!"

"Meg!" I held out my hands and Meg grabbed them, pulling me inside. Raoul's hand moved to the small of my back.

"Oh, Christine," Meg said when we stood in the entryway. Madame Giry had arrived and was taking my cloak from me and handing it to a servant. I couldn't meet her eyes. "I'm so sorry that I was mad at you! I've been so selfish. I forget how much you've gone through, and now! Now, after everything, he took you again. I'm so sorry!" Meg was crying, her round face covered in red blotches of emotion. I wrapped my arms around her and squeezed.

"Meg, it's alright. You will always be my best friend." I carefully avoided talking about Erik "taking" me.

Raoul cleared his throat. "I must speak with the chief, love. I'll be up to check on you in a moment." He kissed my cheek and disappeared with the chief into his study.

"You'll want to get out of that dress, Christine," Madame Giry interrupted. "I will help you."

"I will, too!" Meg said.

"No," said Madame Giry, "Meg, I want you to tell the kitchen all of Christine's favorite foods. She should eat. I will take care of her." She looked at the servants when she said this, as well as Meg. They all curtsied to her, ever the boss.

Madame Giry took my arm and led me up the stairs, quickly. I braced myself for her interrogation, for she knew very well that my official story was false. Once in my room, she locked the door and spun toward me. "Tell me what happened."

With a sigh, I sat in front of the unlit fireplace. It was chilly in the room, but I couldn't gather the strength to start a fire. "No," I said.

"Christine," she knelt in front of me, her hands on my knees, "I can't help you if you don't tell me. Is the Opera Ghost dead?"

"No!" I balked at the thought.

"But you were with him last night?" Her voice said that it wasn't really a question. I nodded. "The whole night?" Again, I nodded. "Have you… Christine, did you give yourself to him?"

I thought about lying, but she would know. She always knew. "Yes," I whispered.

Madame Giry sat back on her heels and dropped her face into her hands. "You've ruined us all, Christine. How could you do this?"

"I love him." It was enough for me, and I didn't care if it wasn't enough for her. I loved Madame Giry, and I respected her, but this was my life's happiness.

"This will not end with Raoul blessing your marriage to the Opera Ghost, you selfish child." She sounded so tired that her words held little sting.

"I know. We have a plan, but I don't know what it'll mean for you and Meg, I'm sorry. Raoul will be just fine." My words about Raoul were harsh and bitter. "Perhaps Erik and I could send you money, once we've settled. He says he has somewhere…"

"Where?"

"I can't say."

"You can't, or you won't?"

"I can't. He didn't tell me, but I wouldn't tell you even if I did know. I'm sorry."

""""

Raoul paced the room, glass of brandy sloshing onto the carpet now and then. He was dressed impeccably, his beautiful eyes enhanced by the glow of the fire and the spark of anger. The chief of the gendarmes thought his features were a little too delicate to be taken seriously, his skin a bit too soft to intimidate. The only thing serious about the vicomte was his family, and that was all that the chief respected. He'd seen the vicomte show great bravery on the night of the opera fire, but the man himself was too caught up in that little singer. Like many in Paris, the chief thought the vicomte was very egregiously being taken advantage of by a pretty little money-grabber.

The vicomte's voice was a growl as he said, "Consider your next words very carefully, chief. What exactly are you trying to imply?"

"Monsieur, I spoke to the, uh, proprietor of the Fluer. She told me that… forgive me, but she told me that Miss Daae was there willingly. That she spoke for the monster when they requested a room. She went up with him, stayed for a few minutes, left. Then, she returned last night, by herself."

"Obviously he had threatened her somehow. Come, they're whores, they don't understand!"

"That may be, but Vicomte… She was there with him for an entire night, and I don't mean to be impertinent, but the ladies heard some things. Things that make me want to question Miss Daae about how exactly she was imprisoned."

"Shut up! You mean to tell me that they think she… to think that any woman would ever willingly… it's abhorrent!"

"Quite, sir. I am just asking to question the mademoiselle… clear up any suspicion, as ridiculous as it may be."

Raoul stopped with his back to the chief, staring down into the fireplace. He stood still so long that the chief started to fidget in his chair. "Vicomte?" he said.

Raoul slammed his free hand into the mantle, so hard that the other man jumped. Then Raoul threw back his brandy, slammed the glass down on a table, and growled, "No one will be speaking with my wife. She's had a terrible experience, and every time we think we're through with this _thing_ , he comes back into our lives like an angel of death. Find him, kill him, but do it without Christine. And do it soon. Good day." Raoul stormed out of the room before the chief could even think to remind him that Christine was not his wife yet. Still, the gendarmes couldn't lose the support of the vicomte.

""""

Although I knew that I had no love left for Raoul, I also felt great shame at the fact that I broke my word. I gave myself to a man who was not my betrothed. So, when I heard Raoul's footsteps on the stairs, I knew that I had to tell him some semblance of the truth. I couldn't tell him everything, of course, but maybe if he knew I didn't love him anymore, it would make my leaving a little less painful for him. At least, I hoped he could move on a bit more quickly. Madame Giry agreed that he was owed some explanation and stood by my side as we waited for Raoul's knock on the door. We both jumped when it was thrown open.

"Leave us," Raoul barked at Madame Giry. She glanced at me, and her surprised expression must have matched my own. "Now," Raoul said, holding the door open. After a moment, Madame Giry walked out of the room without a backward glance. I looked worriedly after her, but Raoul shut the door firmly.

"Raoul? Are you alright?" I asked.

"We're getting married, Christine." He said it so matter-of-fact that I couldn't quite understand what he said at first.

"We're... ?"

"Getting married. Today, now."

"But Raoul, I-" Before I could say any more, he'd rushed forward, too fast for me to prevent it. His hands caught the sides of my face and his lips slammed into mine, hard enough to bruise. I gasped and his tongue forced its way into my mouth, thrusting deep. I tore my face away, but his hands brought it back and I couldn't fight him. I whimpered, then screamed against his mouth, tasting alcohol. My scream seemed to snap him back to himself, and he released me so suddenly that I fell backward, landing on my bottom in front of the cold fireplace.

"Oh God," he whined, his hands tangling in his hair. He looked mad, his eyes bulging and the veins in his neck standing out against his skin. "Christine, I'm sorry. Here," he held out his hands to help me up, but I pushed them away.

"Don't touch me," I whispered.

I saw his eyes fill with tears. "Christine… I just love you so much. I'm scared, love. Terrified that if I don't touch you every second, you'll disappear again."

His words did touch some place in me, and I could see he meant them, but this was the second time he'd assaulted me. Not to mention what he'd done to Erik. "I don't know you anymore, Raoul."

"I'm me, Christine! I'm still me." He fell to his knees in front of me, putting our eyes on the same level. "I just want you safe. I don't ever want to lose you again. You've made me wait so long, Christine, and now it feels like you're slipping through my fingers. Marry me." I couldn't say anything, and it took all my strength to shake my head. "Christine… aren't you afraid of the demon from the opera?" Everything in my being shouted for me to tell him no, that I loved the Opera Ghost, but Raoul was unstable. His eyes were filled with fear, but something else, too. He looked like a man waiting to be executed. What would he do to me, to Erik? He might lock me up, then I'd never see my angel again. Swallowing against the bile in my throat, I nodded. The look in his eyes cleared a bit. "I don't want you alone, ever. Not even to sleep. I can't stay with you if we're not married; the servants would gossip and no one in society would accept us." My eyes widened at that. After everything, he still cared what the society thought? How could I ever have thought I belonged in his world? "We have to get married."

How could I get out of this? He looked so determined, his eyes hard, jaw set. "But Raoul," I stammered, thinking fast, "we can't get married like this, out of fear. What would the town think?"

"That I loved you…"

"They'd know we did it because of what happened today… or they'd think I was with child… either way we can't look like this is changing us, right? GIve it time… a week." I smiled at my genius. In a week, Erik and I would be across the world!

"No, we can't wait. I don't want you alone…"

"I'll stay with you during the day and at night, Madame Giry can stay with me."

"But she's old, she can't protect you."

"Meg, then. I don't feel comfortable with anyone else staying with me. Please, between Meg and I, we can fight long enough for you to come save us." I steeled my courage and put a hand against his face. He sagged into it, his eyes closing. "Please love, give me a week. Then we can marry without scandal."

""""

Meg was happy to sleep in my quarters with me, and it actually reminded me of when we were little, sleeping in the dorms in the opera house, giggling as Meg climbed under my covers, freezing me with her toes. We'd stay up for hours, talking stupid talk about things that didn't matter. Tonight, though, we had to talk about the most important thing in my life. In 24 hours, Erik was coming for me, and Meg would be here. Could I have snuck out without her knowing? Yes, but I couldn't risk her seeing us and jumping to conclusions. Besides, she deserved to know.

"Meg," I whispered into her hair. She was curled up on her side, facing away from me, deeply asleep. "Meg, wake up."

"Mmmhm?" she moaned, turning toward me. "You alright, Christine?"  
"Meg, you're my best friend. Am I your best friend?"

She blinked the sleep from her eyes and narrowed them at me. "Of course."

"I love you no matter what. Do you love me no matter what?"

"Yes, Christine, what is it?"

I took a deep breath and said, "Meg, I'm going to tell you something, but you have to promise me you won't say anything about it, to anyone. Not your mother, and especially not Raoul. Do you promise?"

"I promise."

I told her everything. From the first time I dreamt of Erik after the fire to last night, when I gave him my whole self. Being Meg, she gasped often, asked questions, said, "Oh no, Christine," every time I spoke of lying to her and Raoul, and finally, forgave me. She was young, romantic, a dreamer, and thought Erik's story was terribly sad.

"But he's a murderer, Christine!" she said after I'd finished my tale. "I know he's done much for you, but you can't forget that he's killed so many. Isn't he dangerous, still?"

"Any man is dangerous, but I believe that he did what he did in some kind of journey toward vindication. I know it doesn't make much sense, but everything he's done is so we can be together. And Meg, when we're together, it feels like nothing bad has ever happened in the world."

She shook her head. "I don't know."

"Meg," I took her hand and pleaded, "trust me. He's good. Anything he's done that was evil, was done out of desperation and fear. I have to believe that. He has never hurt me, never tried to hurt me. He gave me a choice, and I have finally made the right one. That's more than Raoul has done."

"But if you go… will you be safe?"

"Of course. My angel will protect me." I scooted closer so that I could look in her eyes in the moonlight. "Meg, I would feel more in danger if I stayed here with Raoul after what he's done. My only chance for happiness is if I leave with Erik tomorrow night. Will you help me?"

After a few moments, Meg nodded.

 **A/N I'm not sure what the equivalent to a police chief would be to the gendarmes, so I just used "chief." Can anyone tell me what the correct term is?**


	14. Chapter 14

I didn't sleep that night, nor did Meg. We both sat up against the headboard, me fully dressed, Meg in her pajamas. A small sack with a few of my personal items in it, things I couldn't bear to leave behind, was lying at the foot of the bed. A pearl necklace that belonged to my mother, a small jewelry box my father had given me, a book of music from Meg, and a couple other trinkets. They all felt like memories of a former life now that mine was about to really begin.

The moon climbed high in the sky as the noises from the house fell away into the darkness. The servants climbed downstairs to their quarters, Raoul's footsteps faded down the hallway and disappeared into his room, the fire crackled and slowly died away, leaving a chill in the room. I noted all of this, but didn't really care. My eyes were focused on my balcony door, where I'd seen his shadow once before.

It felt like an eternity, and I began to fret that something had gone wrong. "What if he was captured?" I whispered, my eyes still on the window.

"We would have heard," Meg whispered back.

"What if he decided it wouldn't work? What if he left without me?"

Meg's hand gripped mine. "You're being ridiculous. After everything you've gone through together? He wouldn't leave you."

I tore my eyes from the window and turned to Meg. "But there's so much at stake! He would do anything to protect me, including leave me. You don't know how he is. If he thought the police would turn against me, if he thought there was any risk at all-"

"Christine." Meg nodded behind me and my whole body began to shake. With a gasp, I turned around.

Erik was standing in the doorway, the breeze blowing his black cloak around his slim body, that hideous brown mask on his face. The light from the moon was bright enough that I could see his expression was carefully blank, his eyes on Meg. I didn't care, just bounded off the bed and slammed my body into his, my arms around his neck. He remained stiff against me and I looked up to see him still staring at Meg.

"Meg, isn't it?" he murmured.

Meg looked terrified, and I finally released Erik to say, "Yes, and I've told her everything. She wants us to be happy, Erik. She's helping us." He didn't look convinced, just continued staring at Meg with that cold look on his face.

"I-" Meg squeaked, "I'm going to tell Raoul that I got up to get a cup of tea and when I came back, Christine was gone. I promise."

"Of course you will, Meg," he said, and his voice was the same smooth darkness that he'd used on the girl at the Fleur, "because you know what will happen if you don't. Christine will be arrested, maybe killed. I would be most unhappy. We don't want that, do we?"

She shook her head, terrified. "Stop it," I said to him, my voice stern. We all knew that he was threatening her. "I know you want me safe, but you will not threaten Meg to save me." Finally, his eyes moved to me. "If anything happens to me, it wouldn't be Meg's fault. Even if it were, you are not the monster beneath the opera anymore, Erik."

His cold expression fell apart and he gathered me into his arms. I kissed the only thing I could reach, which was his brown leather mask. He turned his head so I could kiss his lips, which I did with abandon. He held me against him so tightly that I couldn't tell where my body stopped and his began, my arms keeping his head bent to mine, our mouths pressed desperately together. Long before I was ready for it to end, Erik's mouth left mine. "Come," he said, "we must go."

Meg's face was covered in tears, from fright or sadness, I wasn't sure, but I thought it might have been both. I ran to her and wrapped her in my arms, her small body covered by mine. "Christine, are you sure?" her voice shook.

"Absolutely. He loves me, Meg, more than anything. And I love him. Take care of yourself, my dearest. Thank you for everything." I released her, gave her one last peck on the cheek with a smile, and wrapped a heavy cloak around myself. Erik raised an eyebrow at the sack on my bed, and grabbed it at my nod.

"I owe you thanks, as well, Meg," Erik said, "and an apology. I will keep Christine safe and happy. I vow it."

Meg nodded, tears streaming down her face. I gave her one last fierce hug and turned toward the window, Erik's hand at my back. With his help, I climbed over the balcony rail and down the rough stones of the wall, which were ornate enough to be excellent footholds. Erik climbed faster than I did, and reached the ground first. He held his hands towards me and took my waist when I was close enough, helping me make a soft landing.

"Quickly," he whispered. He led me through the garden, stepping to the side of the path, under the cover of the trees where we couldn't be seen from the windows. He glanced back periodically as we ran, but I didn't. When we burst through the gate at the end of the garden, there was a small black carriage waiting there, horses standing patiently. Erik handed me into the carriage and sat beside me. He cracked the reigns with a quick flick of his wrists and the horses were off, trotting away down the street. As the distance between me and Raoul increased, I breathed easier and easier. My hand curled around Erik's upper arm, my head rested against his shoulder, and my eyes slid closed. I concentrated on the feel of him, of being with the man I loved.

Erik wasn't so relaxed. I could feel him tense periodically whenever we heard voices on the sidewalk or passed the odd carriage. He would shrink deeper into the large hood over his face and lean back into the awning of the carriage. With my hood over my hair, I doubt anyone would recognize me in the darkness, but I kept my face turned into his jacket all the same. This meant, of course, that I had no idea where we were or where we were going, but Erik was driving the carriage with purpose, and I don't think I would have been much help with directions. He was silent, focused on the horses and the street.

After a while, the passing light from lanterns grew more infrequent, the passing voices died away, and the only sounds of hoofbeats came from our own horses. I turned my face forward again and noticed that we were out of the city center, moving past older, less-stylish homes that were outnumbered by knobby old trees. I thought, surely, we must have been nearing our destination. The sky was turning pink with the rising sun and the air was growing bitter with the cold of early morning. Still, we kept going until the houses disappeared altogether and we were surrounded by forest and fields. The road was so rough that my teeth chattered over every rock and the horses stepped carefully around the stones. I wished Erik would say something, but he had never lost that dark focus on his task, his eyes darting from the horses to the sky, left and right, then back to the horses again.

Finally, Erik pulled on the reigns. When the carriage stopped, I felt him sag against me, just a bit. He let out a slow breath and turned his eyes to me. We stared at each other for a moment, then the enormity of the moment hit us. I laughed and threw my arms around him. His smile was the biggest I'd ever seen from him, and it made him almost beautiful, though he wouldn't believe me if I'd told him. I buried my face in his neck, pressed my mouth to his skin, and held him tight. "Are we free?" I whispered.

"Almost," he said. Once out of the carriage, I could see that we'd stopped in front of a small cottage, tucked away from the road behind a large row of thick hedges. There was a barn behind it, obviously old and crumbling in the morning light. The cottage was small, but looked sturdy, with two levels and few windows. The white paint on the bannisters was chipping, and I knew that Madame Giry would faint at the sight of its disorder. Me, I could only think of how no one would expect Christine Daae to live there. Erik's hand landed on my shoulder and he said, "Go inside. I'll see to the horses and be in shortly." He leaned down, kissed me softly, and murmured, "I love you."

"Erik, we've done it!" I smiled against his lips.

""""

God, she was young. The longer I spent staring at her, the more glaring that fact became. So young, so hopeful. After everything, that hope in her burned so strongly that it warmed every corner of my heart. I was ashamed to see her beauty surrounded by dust and decay. This old house would keep us safe and hidden, but she deserved so much more. She deserved the decadence and richness of the grand house I'd stolen her from, but I was selfish. Her lips were made to smile, and when I opened the door to this sorry excuse for a home, saw her standing in the kitchen/sitting area, she gave me a smile that erased all my fears. She didn't belong here, but she did belong with me.

"I know it's less than you deserve, but it's safe. I acquired this house some time ago, just in case," I said, my voice low in the warm glow of the fire.

Her smile turned to a smirk and she said, "I'll certainly have to add some womanly touches to the decor," her hands came up to rest on my chest, "but it'll do."

My breathing quickened with her simple touch. I would never get used to her caresses. "Not for long, I promise. I'll give you everything Christine, everything I possibly can." She raised up on her tiptoes, and I had to bend to meet her lips with mine. "The whole world," I whispered against her mouth.

"I don't need the world, Erik." Her arms wrapped around my neck and I was lost. Every inch of her pressed against me and her weight was a vindication. I feared that if I told her what she meant to me, how closely her love was tied to my very existence, she would crumble with the weight of it. I held her to me and knew that I would burn this entire city to the ground if it meant we would never be apart again.

"God, Christine." I swept her off the floor, lifting her small frame easily. Tied together, I carried her up the stairs to the bedroom. The linens weren't fresh and the covers were still disturbed from where I'd slept in them the night before, but I didn't care. The burning of her skin against mine, so unfamiliar and so precious, pushed my ever-present fears as far from my mind as they could get. It was possible, with her lips on mine, to believe that she would never leave me. All I had to do was show her every moment that she'd made the right choice.

The first time we'd made love, she'd been so bold that I worried that it hadn't been her first time. Not that it would have turned my heart, but it killed something in me to think that someone else had held my beloved the way I'd always dreamed of doing myself. Then, seeing the fear as I'd hovered over her, the limitless trust that I wouldn't hurt her, I knew that she was as innocent as I was, in this at least. We'd learned together, and it was the most precious gift she could have given me. Now, she had no fears, only desires. Her hands raked at my clothes, pulled my head down to hers so her lips could assault mine. Like this, she was absolutely free. I didn't think I would ever be able to completely abandon myself like she did, but in her arms, I felt freer than I ever had. Every kiss broke something new inside me, and I got the sense that she was destroying me. I only prayed she could rebuild me into something much better than I was, something that deserved her.

Standing beside the bed, we kissed over and over, relearning the caresses we'd only begun to discover a few days ago. I curled her hair around my fingers, keeping her face close to mine. Her hands roamed boldly across my body, over my chest and pressing around my stomach and waist. Her fingers pulled my shirt free from my pants and I let her yank it over my head. I stood bare from the waist up for her inspection in the morning light. I loved her with all my being, and I knew that she wanted me, but I still couldn't quite believe it. I wanted to let myself go, to trust her completely, but my hands clenched into fists, and my heart tried to brace for rejection. Just like she'd done that first night, Christine placed a kiss on my disgusting shoulder, and my eyes slid closed. _Thank you_.

 **A/N: I'm not completely happy with this chapter, but I wanted to get it posted so nobody would think I was abandoning the story! The next chapter will be out very soon. Thank you for all your reviews!**

 **Also, I'm trying some of Erik's perspective in this chapter. Did you guys like it, or was it too jarring?**


	15. Chapter 15

Blood streamed from my bare feet and the pain was almost choking me, but I kept running. There was no escaping, but I couldn't stop trying. The monster behind me gained on me, footsteps silent, but his breathing was ragged and harsh. God, it was almost in my ear, he was so close. The walls twisted into darkness and I ran on pure instinct, trying to remember the path through my panic, but fate only took me so far. My foot fell into the air, and my body weight catapulted me forward, down the stairs, crunching bones and bruising skin. The tears mingled with blood on my face and I heard the smooth chuckle above me as I tried to scramble away. His footsteps tapped down the stairs, mockingly slow. Finally, a heavy foot stamped down on my skirts, trapping me.

"You're mine, Christine." A torch flared into life above me, illuminating Erik's triumphant, demonic face. "You're finally mine."

Then I screamed.

""""

Erik's cold hands were wiping the tears from my face and I opened my eyes to the warm glow of our shabby bedroom. We'd been here for only a few days, but it had started to feel like home. "Christine, love, what is it?"

I jerked away from him and scooted to the edge of the bed where I sat up and put my head in my hands. The bed shifted as he came up behind me and put his hands on my shoulders. "Erik, please," I whispered. "Please, don't touch me now."

His hands slid away and I heard the hurt in his voice as he said, "What have I done?"

For some reason, annoyance flared up in me, burning away the last of my fear. "Nothing," I said.

"Something is bothering you. What did you dream?"

I rubbed my face with my palms and stood. "Nothing. I'm going downstairs for a bit." Before he could reply, I gathered a robe around me and almost jogged out of the room, eager to be alone. I knew that he was hurt and confused, but I couldn't look at him. I sat in my favorite worn green armchair in the tiny sitting room and thought about my dream. I wasn't afraid of Erik, was I? No, that couldn't be right. I loved him, and he loved me. We were everything to each other. We'd scarcely been out of each other's arms since we'd arrived here, making love and talking, dreaming about the future. Tonight, though, my mind took me back to those days of _Don Juan_ , when thoughts of the Phantom of the Opera filled me with dread. When I heard Erik's footsteps on the stairs, it only served to remind me of the dream again.

"Christine, you have me worried. Don't leave me alone this way," he said from the stairway.

My back was to him and I left it that way. "I'm just here. I'd like to be alone, only for a while."

For a long time it was silent, and I thought he'd ghosted up the stairs, until I heard a heavy huff of air from his lips. "I've been alone for too long. Far too long. I won't bear it again, not even for a moment. You swore you loved me Christine."

"I do love you-"

"Then why are you acting this way?" He almost shouted it.

I finally rose from the chair and faced him, though I kept the chair between us. His mask was firmly in place and every inch of him spoke of his anger. "I know that you're lonely! I know that you're afraid and that you love me and don't want to lose me. I know all of this Erik, and I love you for it. I also know that you've done terrible things to keep me. I love you, and I'm staying with you, but I suppose I'm realizing that I'm also still afraid of you. So please, for a very little while, leave me alone."

"Afraid? How can you be afraid? I would never hurt you, Christine, never!"

"I know that you would never hurt me."

"Then tell me what's wrong!"

"I'm afraid that I've left one prison for another!" The second the words left my mouth, I knew I'd made a mistake. My hand flew to my lips and I watched Erik's face drain of any color it had left. "Erik, I didn't-"

"I'll leave you." He turned his back and glided silently up the stairs. I was frozen for a moment, but then sense returned and I sprinted up the stairs after him. I threw open the door, but realized immediately that he was gone, the open window the only indication that he'd been there at all.

 **I know this is a short little filler chapter, but I just wanted you to know I'm still here! There's a bit of trouble in paradise for these two, and I got me inspired to return to this story. Thank you everyone who's sticking with me!**


	16. Chapter 16

Can't breathe.

Hook my arms around

his shoulders

Wide,

strong-

The strength is a lie

As weak as I am,

He needs my strength.

Two paper walls,

We brace for the fall

trusting the other to

catch us both.

I stared out the window for a long time, searching for movement in the tiny yard and the trees beyond, but of course, there was none. Erik could only be seen when he chose to be. My stomach was made of stone as I collapsed on the bed, my face buried into his pillow. With his scent wrapped around me, the fear I'd felt just minutes before was fading fast. He'd done what I asked him to do- he'd left me alone. Even though I knew that he loved me more than anything, I also knew that he had a hard time trusting me. Had I just destroyed every bit of tenuous trust I'd managed to build with him? Why had I said those things? I didn't feel imprisoned, did I? Not since the fire had he made me feel that way. So why did I have that dream? Why did Erik's face terrorize me in the dark, but also make me feel precious and loved? What if I'd ruined everything? What if he gave me the freedom I'd just accused him of stealing? My mind balked at the sense of loss. I was so cold without him. Tears soaked his pillow.

Hours later, I was still curled into our bed, my face pressed into his pillow. The sun was sinking low in the sky by the time I finally rose to splash water on my face and take care of some basic needs. The water from the pitcher was cold and hurt my teeth as I gulped it down, but I was so thirsty from the tears. I was filling the glass again when I heard hoofbeats outside. My first thought was that it was Erik, but I hadn't heard the horse leave the barn when he'd left. I ran from our bedroom, down the stairs to the front door, and threw my back against it. My heart was pounding and I was sure we'd been found, either by Raoul, the gendarmes, or the militia. If they took me, and Erik came back to find the house empty, or an ambush in wait... I couldn't bear to think of it. Slowly, I pulled back the curtain on the window and peered out. The yard was empty, the trees were silent and still, and I couldn't see the horse that I was sure I'd heard. I waited and watched, my fingers cramped from how tightly I was grasping the curtain.

"Christine," Erik's sudden voice from behind me made me scream and whip around. His face was startled and confused as I ran to him and threw my arms around his neck.

"Erik! I thought you'd gone forever. Then I heard a horse and I thought the gendarmes had found me and you'd think I betrayed you. I'm-" Erik's gloved hands pulled my arms from his neck and he stepped back.

"Come with me," he said shortly. Without a response from me, he strode through the tiny kitchen and out the door he'd left open. I followed him, wary of the emotionless way he held himself. He led me around the back of the cottage to the small stable. I saw the black horse that had brought us in the carriage, but there was another horse, a spotted gray mare. Erik walked to the stall and put his hand up to the mare's face. He hung a water bucket on the wall of her stall and patted her neck as she drank.

My steps were slow and loud on the cold ground, but I eventually stood next to him, my eyes fixated on his hand as it rested on the mare. "What's going on?"

"She's yours," Erik said.

"Mine?"

Erik dropped his hand and leaned back against the door of the stall, finally meeting my eyes. There was no expression in them, nothing. "I said I would never let you go again, but I will not chain you to my bed, either. This horse is yours to do with as you please, I won't stop you."

Without another word, Erik pushed himself away from the stall and walked back to the house without a backward glance. Shocked, I watched him disappear inside. The mare banged her water bucket against the wall and it made me jump. The bucket was empty, and she wanted more. Numbly, I lifted the bucket off its hook and took it over to the well, filled it, and brought it back. The mare nuzzled my arm as I lifted the bucket back on its hook, her soft whiskers tickling the skin there. The corner of my mouth lifted in a smile. "You're a good girl, aren't you?" I murmured. "You'd do anything I asked, I'm sure. If we left today, you'd be my only friend in the world." My hand stroked down her neck and the skin on her shoulder twitched. "I'm in love with a man who's in love with me, and I can't leave him."

By the time I went back inside, smoke was rising from the chimney. Erik was seated in front of the fireplace in the parlor, in the same chair in which I'd sat last night. I walked around him and put myself between him and the fire, its heat thick against my back. His eyes were on me, and they were as empty as they'd been outside. My own eyes raked over him, taking in his wild hair, leather mask, white shirt, black pants, and dull, black shoes. His shirt was open at the collar, something he always did whenever the fire was too warm on his skin. I supposed he was used to the cold of the tunnels, so our cottage was stuffy and hot by comparison. My eyes focused on his exposed skin there, where neck turned into chest. The skin was taut and perfect, the fire casting shadows into the hollow at his throat. I'll never forget how it looked on stage, when the two of us were singing that incredible song, full of lust and passion. His throat had captivated me as he sang, and it had terrified me at the same time. I was too stupid to know how I longed for him, even then. Lost in memory and feeling, I moved closer to him and knelt at his feet. My hand looked so small as I reached out and touched him, running my fingertips along the edges of his collar. I saw his chest rise and fall more quickly and felt his eyes on me turn warm. I leaned close and put my lips at the base of his neck. He sighed and ran his fingers through my hair, holding me against him for a moment. I ran my lips up his neck, over his jaw, feeling the rough stubble there, and covered his mouth with mine.

His lips were warm from the fire, but his tongue was cool in my mouth. His legs parted for me to get closer and I pressed my chest against his, my hands tangled in his hair. He moaned and the sound struck through me. He sounded desperate, desperate to know I loved him. I stood long enough to climb onto the chair with him, a leg on either side of his lap, and brushed the hair away from his face. His eyes were glued to mine above him, his lips swollen and parted. I kissed him again, answering his desperation with some of my own. If I was imprisoned, it was my own doing. Every part of me, my very soul, was completely his, and I'd given it to him. There was nothing I wouldn't do to keep him, to save him. I would give my life, I would take a life. He was everything.

His hands were pulling at my skirt, yanking it up to my waist. I rose on my knees and pulled it free, my hands going to the fastening on his trousers. Once his length was free, I sank onto it. We both moaned at the feeling, as if it had been weeks since we'd made love, not hours. Erik's head dropped to my chest, his lips and tongue tracing over my breasts as they peeked out from under my nightgown. I had my head thrown back as I moved, rising up and then slamming down again, seeking every bit of friction I could. His arms were around my back, handfuls of my hair clenched in his fists. It pulled with my movements, but the pain of it was another feeling to add to the pile of sensation. His mouth found a nipple through my nightgown and I jerked at the rough feeling of wet fabric running over me. If I had any sense left at all, I might have been embarrassed at the sounds I was making, but Erik was matching me moan for moan. There was no difference in our passion, nothing but the thought that this was too precious to ever let slip away. He climaxed first, thrusting into me with a hand wrapped around my thigh at his hip, his mouth still on my breast. I followed soon after and ground down on him as I trembled. We sat there for I don't know how long, catching our breath, savoring the closeness. The world was very far away outside, and we were grateful for it.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Special thank you to Juliemaggie for telling me what the police chief was called in France during this time period! I'm hoping I don't massacre any other historical details.**

"What would you have done if I'd left?"

I'd wanted to ask this question for a while, but I was afraid Erik would take it badly. In reality, I was just confused. I would have thought nothing would have convinced him to let me go. My chin was resting on his chest as we lay in bed, my eyes glued to his. At my question, he sighed and turned his face away.

"Don't ask me that, love. It doesn't matter anymore."

"Would you have come after me?"

"No. Not if it's what you wanted."

I know it's unfair, but his words stung a bit. Was his love really that fragile? That fleeting? "How could you just let me go? You said you never would again."

WIth a huff, he sat up against the headboard, disturbing my posture and throwing me on the side of the bed. "What, Christine? You would want me to be your jailer?"

"No, but-"

His voice was hard with anger. "I am in love with a selfish creature. You want to be free of me, but you want me beholden to you, yes? You like knowing that I am devoted to you, but you don't wish to make the same commitment? Fear not, my dear, I haven't lied to you in a long while. I would let you go, but I would never live without you. Your ego is safe." He threw off the covers and walked to the door, bare.

"Wait!" I shouted, and his footsteps ceased. I supposed he could hear the desperation. "What do you mean… You would never… Erik, you wouldn't-?"

With his back still to me, he said, "You're everything, Christine. I won't go on without you, but I don't want that to be the reason you stay anymore."

The enormity of what he was saying crashed down on me. To be so completely responsible for another person's happiness… for a life… it was almost too much. Erik waited another moment, and when I didn't say anything, he grabbed a pair of trousers off the chair and strode out of the room. Tears filled my eyes, but I didn't let them fall. He was right- I was selfish. I had stumbled into this love headfirst without thinking of any consequences, just as I had stumbled into love with music. Just as I had stumbled into love with Raoul. For a moment, I wished I were someone like Meg, who had a mother to do all her thinking for her, and to tell her at every turn what the right decision was. I loved Erik with my whole being, but was I strong enough, smart enough, loyal enough to keep him safe? I couldn't keep him safe from me, let alone the world that was so cruelly waiting outside. My God, the terror of losing him was all-consuming. What would the world be like without him? I couldn't bear it.

I forced the tears back and clenched my fist. I had to be. That's just it- I _had_ to be strong enough. We'd taken the plunge, and we were already in the middle of the fray together. There was no turning back, and Erik knew it. Now I knew it too- I needed him just as much as he needed me. It made neither of us weak unless we wavered. If we faced it together, we'd be stronger for it. I just knew it.

When I found him, he was in the back garden, looking at the horses in the stable, dressed in nothing but his trousers. "Erik," I called when I was a few paces behind him. He turned to face me, his face dark and cold. "I will never force you to make a decision like that again." He stayed still, just looking at me. "I'm yours and you're mine. You're mine, Erik. I will not allow anyone to destroy what's mine, not even you. Now come and kiss me."

We stared at each other for a moment. "No," Erik said, and it was a knife in my heart. Then he lifted the corner of his mouth in a wry smile. "You come and kiss _me_." I ran the few feet between us and threw myself at him. He caught me, yanking my legs around his waist, and I kissed him like I was drowning and he was air.

""""

Raoul leaned forward in his seat and placed his hand on the commissaire's desk. "You're absolutely certain, monsieur?"

The man was, frankly, a bit disgusted by the desperate tone of the young vicomte's voice. It didn't fit a man of his stature, especially not over some opera slut who wasn't even his wife. "No, not certain, Vicomte, but it is encouraging. The man was tall, thin, and arrived on a black horse. He bought one sturdy mare, in cash. He kept his face covered the whole time. It's not much, but it's a place to start. The man who sold the horse said that the man woke him late at night, bought the horse, and rode into the countryside. East, along the Marne, he thinks."

"Excellent! When do we ride out?"

The commissaire rubbed a hand over his tired face. "Monsieur, by now they may have left the country. At the very least, we can assume they've made it past Meaux. Which means that they are in another municipality. I would have to organize my forces with the six or so municipalities from here until Reims."

The vicomte blinked. "And?"

"And I can't devote that many resources to a search of this magnitude. When they were still in Paris, it made sense. Now…"

"He is a murderer! He's kidnapped Christine Daae! You cannot let him escape."

"Monsieur, truly, there is nothing more I can do. I'm sorry. If you wish to continue searching, you'll have to do so on your own, using your own investigators."

"You must help me! You must. We'll… we'll withdraw all support. Your aspirations for political office will be ruined!" There was a frantic glint in the man's eye.

The commissaire raised his eyebrows and sat back in his seat. "Frankly, sir, I'd rather lose your support than be the man who wasted countless hours and coins hunting one murderer who took a willing woman."

""""

Back inside the cabin, I plundered Erik's mouth over and over again. We stood in front of the dying fire and wrapped ourselves around one another. "Whatever shall we do now, Christine?" Erik murmured against my mouth.

I smiled. "Whatever you like."

His hands slid to either side of my waist. "Whatever I like?"

I answered with a slow nod, my bottom lip between my teeth. Erik's one perfect eyelid dropped a bit in lust and his breath hissed out between his teeth. "I've always wanted…"

My pulse quickened. "Yes?"

Erik moved me to stand in the middle of the room and told me to stay there. I waited while he stoked the fireplace back to life. Then, he brought the armchair beside the fire, facing it to me, so that my front was to him, and my right side was to the fire. He sat in the chair and placed both hands on the armrests. "Sing for me."

I blinked. "Erik, I've sang for you before."

"Ah, yes." He rose, his lust-filled eyes focused on mine. "But never like this." His hands slid over my shoulders, bringing my sleeves down my arms and forcing the nightgown to fall off my body. The warmth of the fire played over my skin and Erik's hands cast shadows over my shivering body. He backed away, his eyes roving over me. "Please sing. Anything." He sat back down.

For a moment, I felt ridiculous, but then I saw Erik there, breathing hard, staring into me. I began to sing, the notes clear and strong. I don't even know what song it was, I just knew that my knees were as weak as my voice was strong, and there was a growing throb between my legs. My confidence grew with every note, and I saw it when Erik's eyes rolled back in their sockets at a particularly strong crescendo. I walked to him, like I had when we sang during _Don Juan._ When he looked back at me, I was right in front of him. I ran my hand over his hair, tangling it at the back of his head. His eyes closed again and his mouth dropped open. My hands slid over him, across his chest, over his back, my breasts a whisper from his face. He never touched me, and I felt so powerful, so strong and beautiful. My hands drifted lower, and I went with them, eventually kneeling on the floor in front of him, my hands on his thighs. I didn't stop singing until my song was finished and the last, clear note hung in the air.

His fingers were white from gripping the arms of the chair and I could see his length straining against his trousers. Riding my wave of power and arousal, I slowly undid the fastenings at his waist, freeing him. I took his length in my hand and moved it up and down, gently. He threw his head back against the chair and let his breath out in a hiss. I looked up to see him draw his bottom lip into his teeth.

"How was my performance, Master?" I murmured. He moaned, deep and guttural. "You'll have to be more specific," I teased. I leaned closer to him, letting my words whisper warmth across his bare skin. "What about my breath? Was it strong enough?" I held my mouth just over him. "Was my voice clear? Was my tongue agile, or did I fuddle my words?" I licked the top of him, just as he'd done to me many times, and his hips jerked. Finally, he looked down at me, in wonder and lust. "Perhaps I just need more practice." I took him into my mouth, moving as gently as I could.

His hand left the arm of the chair to brush against my hair. "God, Christine!" he gasped. "Faster!"

I followed his commands, relishing in the sounds I was pulling from him, the way I could hold him hostage with my mouth. I moved my hand with my mouth, trying to replicate the pleasure he gave me. It wasn't long before his breathing became even more ragged and his hips began to thrust upward, a bit too deep. Just as it started to become too much, he spent inside my mouth, and I swallowed it down.

He slumped into the chair, completely relaxed, and I crawled into his lap with a smug smirk. "Well?"

"Perfect. Absolute perfection."


	18. Chapter 18

The servants crowded around the preparation table in the kitchen, making shaky eye contact with each other in the dim light from the fireplace. Their master was a floor above them, destroying his study, by the sounds of it. Miss Daae had been gone for so long, but le vicomte would not let her go. He was sleeping less and less, drinking more and more, and becoming very short-tempered with anyone who crossed his path in the hallways. He had taken to sleeping in the room which Christine had occupied before, falling on the bed fully clothed, bottles of brandy scattered around the room which he would not allow to be cleaned.

Madame Giry kept her eyes and ears open for apartments to rent.

"""""

"Christine, love, where would you like to go?"

"Go?"

"To live. We can't stay in France- it is too dangerous."

I threw the towel I'd been using to dry our dishes over my shoulder and turned to face him where he sat at the small, wooden table. "I don't know. I've never thought past the stage," I said with a laugh.

His face remained serious. "I will get you back on the stage, I promise. But where?" He sat back in his chair while his long fingers drummed on the table. "I can get us to London, but I can barely stomach the English. I know Prussia, but they can barely stomach the French."

"How do you know Prussia? Did you live there?"

He lifted the corner of his mouth. "I'll tell you someday. I will not take you to Africa, nor Asia. Too many French officers with nobody to hold their leashes."

I giggled at that. "If only you had friends in government. You could shape up the entire army."

"If I had friends in government, Christine, I would settle for not having to hide in a dirty old house in the country. There's only one place I can think of that will be bearable for me, and that will allow you to sing."

I leaned close to him over the table and put my lips close to his. "Do tell."

His lips raised in a smirk, and he bent to kiss me.

""""

Meg Giry was not an intelligent girl. She could dance, her voice was sweet, though unremarkable, and she was attractive, but not striking. Her greatest gift was a gift of perception. She saw her mother's nervousness, she saw Raoul's decline, and she knew that, with Christine gone, she should be careful to avoid le vicomte after dinner. She and her mother took to retiring to their quarters the second the servants took the meals, begging the excuse of getting rest after rehearsals. Meg was fine with this, even though she had, up until now, enjoyed Raoul's company. That company, though, had soured after Christine's "disappearance." Meg was perceptive, but all the perception in the world could not stop an intelligent man obsessed.

One night, coincidentally the night Erik had offered Christine a horse on which to escape, an urgent message came for Madame Giry from the theater. Forks clanked and Raoul's face, already ruddy with drink, stared with eyes too wide at the servant who thrust the note at Madame Giry. Her eyes scanned the note quickly before she raised worried eyes, first to Raoul, then to Meg. "It seems there's some emergency at the theater. Some talk of strike among the girls."

Raoul chuckled without warmth. "Everyone's a diva, no?"

Madame Giry nodded. "The manager has had no success, and with a show tomorrow, he's asking me to return. I beg you'll excuse me, Monsieur."

"Of course, of course!"

Madame Giry rose and turned, but just as quickly, she turned back to her daughter. "Meg, I think you should accompany me."

Raoul said, "Madame, come, it's late! Meg should rest before her show tomorrow. Don't you think?"

The older woman's jaw clenched for a moment. "I really would like-"

Le vicomte's hand slammed down on the table, rattling the candlesticks in the center. "She needs rest. Isn't that what you say every evening after dinner, _Madame_?"

Mother and daughter's eyes met across the table, but both were stone-faced. Meg said, "I'll go straight to bed, Maman. Don't worry."

"Go, go!" Raoul said, his hand waving in the air. "We wouldn't want the city's third best theater to miss a performance."

Madame Giry swallowed her pride and suspicion, and left. Meg felt a chill run through her as she felt le vicomte's eyes on her. "I had better do what Maman said, Monsieur. Good night."

As Meg rounded the table, Raoul rose to place himself in her path. "Meg, we've always been good friends. We should have a drink together!"

"But I should…"

Raoul's eyes turned cold and his voice lost all pretense at friendliness. "I insist."

A few seconds later, Meg found herself sitting in a chair next to the fireplace in Raoul's study, wine in hand. The study was deceptively cozy: plush armchairs covered in red velvet reflected the glow of the fireplace, a huge desk in mahogany and gold in the corner, books that never gathered dust in the servants' care lined the walls, and Raoul, the handsome nobleman, stood in the center. He should have looked regal and welcoming, but he was like a black mark in a beautiful oil painting. All this went through Meg's mind as Raoul approached her.

"My dear Meg. You must be quite the heavy sleeper."

Meg's hand shook as she raised the wine glass to her lips. "I don't know what you mean, Monsieur."

"Going to sleep every night just after supper, sleeping straight through to the morning. Why, I sometimes forget what you look like, you sleep so long! Then, of course, you slept through Christine's kidnapping." At that last word, his cold eyes bore into Meg's. She shrunk into the armchair, clutching the wine in front of her like a shield as Raoul loomed over her.

"Monsieur…"

"Meg, I wish I could sleep as soundly as you do, but I can't. I close my eyes and all I see is that monster stealing into Christine's room, covering her mouth so we couldn't hear her scream, and tear my beloved away from me. And you, sleeping there all the time. Tell me," his hands were on the armrests now, and Meg turned her face away from the stench of his breath, "do you feel any guilt? I've let you and your mother into my home, fed you, ignored the insults and jokes from my peers, and you repay me by allowing my wife to be stolen. I don't think you do feel guilty. I think that all I see in you is fear now, and as much as it pains me, know that I will do anything to see Christine safe, back with me. You are going to tell me everything, Meg.


End file.
